'^pIE pIRING ]JNH 
hy Damon Runyon 

author o/''TETsrTS of trouble" 





Rnnic ijs 



— L-4^^ 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



RHYMES OF THE FIRING LINE 



RHYMES OF 
THE FIRING LINE 



BY 

DAMON RUNYON 

Author of '' The Tents of Trouble '' 




NEW YORK 

Desmond FitzGerald, Inc. 

PUBLISHERS 






Copyright, 1912 
By Desmond FitzGerald, Inc. 



All Rig/its Reserojed 



CCI.A312243 



T T was the Good Wind speaking ; 
-*■ It was the Good Wind said: 
" Mother, I come from a pathless sea 
Where none before had gone, save me; 
And there I saw with infinite dread — 
A lonely ship; 

Battered and worn from a desperate trip. 
Mother, aloft your flag it bore — 
Crimson and blue and white it shone; 
And high above the sea's sad roar 
Voices I heard that echoed your own. 
And strange men sang a song — 
A song that breathed of hope! " 



The author is indebted for the reproduction of verse 
included in this volume to the People's Magazine, the 
Bohemian Magazine, Denver Ne^ws, Lippincott's Maga- 
zine, Munsey's Magazine, Sunset Magazine, Spare 
Moments, Denver Post, Army and Navy Life, New 
York Sun, Army and Navy Journal, Pearson's Magazine, 
the Reader Magazine, Leslie's Monthly, Denver Times, 
New York American, and the souvenir book of the 
Twenty-first United States Infantry. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Rhymes of the Firing Line 

A Song of "Pants" ii 

Manila — Now 14 

The Night Rider 18 

"Rumors of War" 21 

The Pride of Peace 24 

Veteran and Recruit 27 

Hoof Beats 29 

The Passing of the Veterans 32 

The Marine 35 

"Soldiers!" 38 

The City that Served 41 

Officer — and Gentleman 45 

Nostalgia 47 

The Moro Man 49 

Sentry-Go 51 

First — and Last 54 

Going and Coming 56 

The Rear Guard 57 

Datto Jan 59 

" Eyes o' the Army " 62 

To the Colors 64 

A Song from Sulu 65 

Christmas in Samar 67 

When God Forgot 69 

The Trust of the Yellow Man 73 

The Sergeant's Prayer 79 

"Dixie" 82 

Sailing Orders 84 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Gentlemen of Jeopard 

When Men Die 89 

Ballad of French George 90 

"The Man Who Can't Go Back" 93 

The Boy She Used to Know 96 

The Pick and Shovel Brigade 98 

A Divorce Problem loi 

Ballad of Hop Looey 103 

The Song of the Exiles 106 

Judge Barleycorn 108 

The One-Chance Men no 

The One With the Cloudy Eyes 113 

"John Yegg" Speaks 116 

The Story of Yaney How 118 

The Tearless Eyes 122 

Ballad of the Brakebeams 124 

Song of the Lost Trains 126 

Yee-Sang-Hip 128 

Song of the Steam Shovel 132 

The Fall of a God 134 

The Last of the Hackdrivers 138 

The Outbreak 140 

Diamond Ditties 

A Minor League Melody 145 

The Free Hitter 147 

Blacklisted 149 

Homeward Bound 150 

A Ringside Rhyme 151 

Pabalita Sandoval 153 

Requiem 159, 



RHYMES OF THE FIRING LINE 



A SONG OF " PANTS " 

(The American soldier's trousers are his most illy fitting gar- 
ment — English criticism. ) 

T 'M a-comin' up from stables in me ragged pantaloons 
-■- An' me shirt tail's flyin' freely out behind; 
An' me ridin' seat has patchin's grinnin' like a pair o' 
moons — 

'Tis a job I did me ownself, d'ye mind. 
An' I hears th' sergeant bawl: *' Hi, come to th' barrack 
hall; 

All th' officers is lookin' you askance. 
Yer clothes they is a sight, an' th' fittin' is a fright — 

Come on an' git some pants, pants, pants ! " 

Few clothes! New clothes! 

Clothes to soldier in ; 
Clothes for dress, fatigue an' mess 

An' clothes for sleepin' in. 

New clothes! Blue clothes! 

Dinner er a dance — 
Every man is goin' to plan his 

Pants! Pants! Pants! 
II 



A SONG OF " PANTS " 

I've drored 'em by th' numbers; when I'd want a pair o' 
pants 
I'd tell th' sergeant: " Gimme Number Two"; 
He'd look his lot all over an' he'd fit me from a glance — 

If he was shy o' twos, why threes'd do. 
But now he takes me measure an' he measures to me pleas- 
ure; 
He doesn't leave a single inch to chance. 
Oh, there's cuttin' an' there's snippin' an' there's clippln' 
an' there's rippin' 
As they're reefin' in th' surplus o' me pants! 

Few clothes! New clothes! 

Clothes that have to fit. 
Every stitch an' even hitch 

Where you has to sit. 

Grab clothes! Drab clothes! 

Nothin' left to chance; 
Every ginney's lovely in his 

Pants! Pants! Pants! 

Oh, they're goin' to fit 'em tightly for to cover up th' 
waist — 
(When th' grub is runnin' light th' wrinkles show.) 
An' they'll leave no slack for handholts when a feller's 
gittin' chased — 
(But they haven't said allowances will grow.) 
12 



A SONG OF " PANTS " 

Oh, we'll be th' swell gazooks when it comes to fancy 
looks — 
You kin tell we're tailor-cultured at a glance; 
When we come to yer attention, oh, we wish you'd 
kindly mention 
Th' architectural beaut}^ o' our pants! 

New clothes! Blue clothes! 

Clothes o' proper hang; 
Clothes o' style that cost a pile 

To give th' girls a pang. 

Few clothes! New clothes! 

Soldiers to enhance; 
Every ginney's lovely in his 

Pants! Pants! Pants! 



13 



MANILA— NOW 

(THE WAIL OF THE RECRUIT) 

SAY! I came here to these Philippines in fightin' forn> 
arrayed ; 
To put down fierce rebellion, an' some other things like 
that ; 
What do I find? What do I see? The enemy's in 
trade — 
An' all the war is fer me coin an' all hands gittin' fat!. 
They're sellin' socks, they're sellin' shoes, they're 
sellin' bricky-braw; 
The carnage is in prices an' their work is pretty 

raw; 
An' as fer war — don't mention it — a little fightin" 
— Pshaw ! 
They're all blame glad the crooel war is over! 

You find a leadin' citizen, an' pin him down on it; 
An' smoke him out considerable, he'll have to tell you 
true 
That he came in a transport an' he's done his guard house 
bit — 
But soldiers don't attract him now, except when pay 
day's due. 

14 



MANILA — NOW 

Nebraska, Pennsylvania, Dakota, Tennessee, 
They're brothers now in lodges, an' they're glad 

the country's free — 
An' they have one thing in common, w'ich that 

common thing is me — 
But they're mighty glad the crooel war is over! 

You ast a pussy banker man, who's changin' in your 
gold — 
"Was you a snoljer, onct, ole pal?" he'll eye you 
through his specks; 
He'll stop, fergit his total, an' the chances is yer told, 
The story o' his lifetime an' the things wot he expects. 
" My frien', I came wit' Funston, from the Kansas 
plains, y'see; 
I follered him acrost Luzon an' up a mango tree; 
I swum the ragin' Bag-Bag an' I've got six medals 
— me! 
But I'm mighty glad the crooel war is over! " 

You ast the guy wot drives you in a funny little hack — 
"Do you recall them fights out here?" he stops his 
bosses quick; 
An' in his pidgin English, he will start to take you back 
A dozen years o' history; it makes a ree-croot sick. 
" I served wit' Aguinaldo in his ole Red Pants bri- 
gade; 
I was wit' Pio del Pilar an' in the Tondo raid; 
15 



MANILA— NOW 

I served from Hell-to-Breakfast time, a-settin' in 
the shade, 
But I'm mighty glad the crooel war is over." 

You asts a grizzled Chinaman, a-squattin' by his store; 
" Do you know^ anything o' war, me yaller comrade, 
say?" 
An' so he says, an' says it quick, an' acts a little sore 
As if you oughta know him an' his tale o' yesterday. 
" I drove the swayin' bull carts in the rear o' 

Wheaton's line; 
I uster smoke me hop, y'see, an' hear them bullets 

whine ; 
I carried in the wounded, an' I think I did it fine — 
But Fm mighty glad the crooel war is over! " 

You ast a fat policeman, as he's pacin' off his beat, 
" M'frien', you look so peaceful, did you ever have a 
fight?" 
He'll bat his eyes ferocious an'll say wit' plenty heat — 
" Huh ? Say ! I uster live on 'em ; I had 'em every 
night. 
Me! I came from Minnesota, wit' the Thirteenth 

Volunteers; 
Remember we policed the town between the troubled 

years ; 
An' graft was mighty good them days, I recollects 
wit' tears — 
But Fm mighty glad the crooel war is over ! " 
i6 



MANILA— NOW 

You ast the servants, cook, or groom, if they are hep to 
war; 
The motorman, the street sweep an' the heathen savage, 
too; 
You ast the noble barkeep an' the feller in the store 
An' every one has records, an' a battle's nothin' new. 
The fought their way acrost Luzon, an' down in 

Mindanao; 
In Cebu an' most everywhere that they could pick 

a row — 
What chanst fer trouble has a guy who's lookin' fer 
it now 
When they're all so glad the crooel war is over? 



17 



THE NIGHT RIDER 
A SONG OF THE FILIPINO CONSTABULARY 

" Halt/ Who is there! " 

''A friend!'' 
" 'Vance, friend, to be recognized.'* 

''All right, constable!" 



BLACK o' th' night an' th' sighin' trees, 
Faraway hoofs like a throbbin' drum; 
Out o' th' dark on a hasty breeze 

Swift as a shadow I've seen him come. 
Rowels a-rattlin' a cheerful tune; 

Jerk o' th' head an' a brief '' Hello! " 
Passes th' challenge along to th' moon ; 

Where did he come from, where did he go 

Lathered with sw^eat an' a dusty gray, 

Guidin' his boss by th' feel o' his knees; 
Out o' th' night an' into th' day 

Slidin' along like a frightened breeze. 
Holdin' his hungry boss aright 

(Slap o' th' spur gives a holler sound) — 
" Howdy, sentry; a beautiful night." 

'Way in th' distance I hear him pound. 
i8 



THE NIGHT RIDER 

Ripple o' flame in a sooty sky ; 

Snap o' th' bamboo fire he hears; 
Purr o* th' bullets whimperin' by, 

Whine o' th' wimmin an' ladrone cheers. 
Somewhere a barrio's gone to smoke; 

Maybe a tribe has run amuck — 
Out on th' road th' Constable bloke 

Puttin' his trust in God an' in luck! 



Leavin' his niggers to snooze an' dream, 

Dressin' between his boss's jumps; 
" Mornin', sentry," a whitish gleam — 

Challenge is lost in th' echoin' thumps, 
Somewhere is Trouble an' Trouble's him ; 

Crash in th' dark an' a rifle flare. 
Flash of a bolo — a margin slim — 

Medley o' shots on th' still night air! 



Where did he come from, where did he go? 

Out o' th' night like a sad ole ghost, 
Wave o' th' hand an' a brief '' Hello! " 

Leavin' me dozin' along my post. 
Always he comes in th' same ole way, 

Ridin' an' slidin' out o' th' night. 
Rattle o' hoofs an' a vision gray, 

Hurryin' somewhere into a fight. 

19 



THE NIGHT RIDER 

Seat of his pants rhinoceros hide, 

Stomach is lined with a copper plate, 
Sun dried nerves but a cast steel pride; 

Lips cold set in a grin at Fate, 
Muscles hardened as drawn wire — 

Senses quickened an' short drawn breath — 
Eyes a-glitter with watchful fire, 

Ears sharp set to th' step o' Death. 

Where do they git 'em; why do they stay? 

(Death don't play 'em no favorites yet.) 
Never no honors an' blame poor pay; 

Never no medals or names — brevet. 
What is their end? Ah, who can tell? 

Each to th' game he loves th' best — 
Brothers, I bid you all farewell — 

Luck to you all an' a peaceful rest ! 

''Halt/ Who is there?" 

"A friend!'' 
'''Vance, friend, to be recognized," 

"All right, constable!" 



20 



"RUMORS OF WAR" 

(JUST ANY OLD TIME) 

I'LL bet there's a diggin' in rubbish piles, in garrets, 
an' trunks decayed; 
I'll bet there's a rattle in graveyards, too, where th' bones 

o' th' gang are laid; 
I'll bet there's a harkin' o' memories back to th' 'Frisco 

o' Ninety-nine 
As they're readin' discharges they'd long forgot an' findin' 
that capital line: 
'' No objection to his re-enlistment is known to exist** 

I'll bet there's some gents with their eyeglasses off 

a-trainin' on minion type; 
I'll bet there's some closets with chest-weights hung an* 

punchin' bags gittin' a swipe; 
An' / know there's a sudden renewin' o' friends that had 

died with th' lapse o' time, 
An' I reckon they're readin' that asterisk mark along o' 

th' capital line: 
'' No objection to his re-enlistment is known to exist/* 

I know there's a noddin' on Seventeenth street by Jen- 
kins, society swell, 

To Grimes, who's drivin' a beer wagon team an' Hig- 
gins, who's goin' to Hell. 
21 



''RUMORS OF WAR'' 

For all o' them hiked it with Company A an' left it in 

Ninety-nine — 
An' all o' them hold, an' are proud o' th' same, a paper 

that carries th' line: 
"^ATo objection to his re-enlistment is known to exist.*' 



I'm told of a sudden increasin' in meets by a Spanish- 
American vet — 

An' quorums that couldn't be mustered before are only 
too easy to get ; 

I'm told by th' kids in th' National Guard that th' old 
'uns are comin' in fine — 

An' I wonder if some o' it couldn't be traced along o' 
that capital line: 
" No objection to his re-enlistment is known to exist/* 

I know that I'm hearin' no longer th' talk that th' gang 

used to peddle so strong 
O' " hardships," an' " hunger," an' " maggoty beef," an' 

th' " never-enlist-again " song; 
An' I've watched 'em eyin' a street parade an' noted their 

feet markin' time — 
To th' swing o' th' band, an' I've credited it down along 

o' that capital line: 
'' No objection to his re-enlistment is known to exist/' 



22 



''RUMORS OF WAR'' 

Well, th' most o' us play with our whiskers now, or tryin' 

to raise up a kid — 
An' nine long years in th' discard's went — an' Gawd 

knows how they've slid — 
But th' Eighth Corps' ghost may gather again in 'Frisco 

— like Ninety-nine. 
If Uncle'll take it as gospel truth — th' words o' that 

capital line: 
''No objection to his re-enlistment is known to exist/' 



23 



THE PRIDE OF PEACE 

"VTOW th' God o' War he's gone asleep an' nary a 
-*- ^ sound is heard ; 

An' even th' kaiser's shut his face an' hasn't a single word. 
When th' God o' War he takes a nap an' th' little gods 

they snore 
Th' good folks look about an' say: "Well, what's that 

army for? " 
" Oh J what's that standin army standin for? 
We do not need it, hardly, there's no war; 
There aint a sign o* trouble an our taxes they is double — 
So what's that standin army standin for? " 

Now th' God o' War he slumbers long an' th' good folks 

look about; 
It's "What's th' matter with th' army? We'd better 

find it out " ; 
A private he wuz drunk last night — we hear from Mus- 

kadeen — 
Which proves our argyments agin th' in-iki-tus canteen. 
" Oh, what's that standin* army standin for? 
It must be very rotten to th* core; 
It needs investigatin* an th* management beratin* — 
For what*s that standin* army standin* for? ** 

24 



THE PRIDE OF PEACE 

Now th' God o' War snores right along an' th' good folks 

start reform; 
It's " Somethin's wrong, somewhere, somehow; we'll 

make their britches warm; 
We'll bar th' privates from our set — their clothin' makes 

us sore — 
There ain't a war nowhere, nohow — so what's that army 

for?" 
'' Oh, what's that standin army standin for? 
We do not think we need it any more; 
Th' privates must he lazy an th' officers are crazy — 
Else what's that standin^ army standin for? " 



When th' God he whistles through his nose th' good 

folks are dismayed — 
They say: "We orter kick him up, unless th' army's 

'fraid"; 
When th' God o' War he moves a leg an' mumbles in his 

sleep — 
Th' good folks, chesty in their peace, set up an orful weep ; 
"Oh, what's that standin army standin forf 
We're payin it to keep from havin war; 
A fight ain't healthy diet when th' money market's quiet — 
That's what that standin army's standin for! " 

When th' God o' War he bats an eye an' yawns like he's 
awake 

25 



THE PRIDE OF PEACE 

Th' good folks hunt for cover an' their knees begin to 

shake ; 
When th' God o' War he gurgles once an' starts to snore 

again 
Th' good folks look about an' say: "Now where's 

THEM FIGHTIN' MEN? " 

"^ Oh, whafs that standin army standin for? 

We think we've been insulted; start a war — 

We think we need some fightin an some wrongs we need 

a-rightin'' — 
So what's that standin army standin for? " 



26 



VETERAN AND RECRUIT 

OH, we're goin' into action, you kin hear th' flankers' 
shots 
As they're sparrin' for position on th' right; 
You kin hear th' rifles workin' as th' lone outposts they 
pots, 
An' you knows yer gettin' nearer to th' fight. 
Oh, we're goin' into battle, you kin hear th' field guns 
rattle 
As th' gunners get th' distance out ahead; 
An th' orficers say " Steady! Bring yer rifles to a 
' ready ' " — 
Or was it only '' 'Tention," that they said? 

Th' sergeant there behind us, he is lookin' mighty wise, 

He is watching all th' rookies in th' line ; 
An' as you note his calmness you kin feel yer spirits rise, 

For if he's kinder sick he gives no sign. 
Oh, th' rain is softly fallin' an' th' bugles are a-callin', 

As th' regiment is spreadin' like a fan ; 
An' you hears th' steady churnin' o' th' automatics turnin*. 

An' you wonders what 'd happen if you ran. 

Oh, we're goin' into action; here, th' line is movin' on, 
An' th' country looks so peaceful out ahead ; 
27 



VETERAN AND RECRUIT 

You kin see th' mists arisin' an' unsheetin' o' th' dawn, 
An' you wonders how it feels when you are dead. 

You kin hear th' steady patter o' th' bullets as they chatter 
Their little song o' welcome to th' trees. 

An' you has some thoughts o' mother, sister, wife an' 
mebbe brother. 
As you hears yer heart a-workin' with a wheeze. 

We are goin' into action, as we've often gone before. 

An' we know our blasted feelin's like a book ; 
A hundred times, perhaps, we heard this same old battle- 
roar 

An' these shakin's we're a-shakin' always shook. 
Oh, we're goin' into battle, you kin hear our molars 
rattle ; 

For veteran or rooky, it's th' same; 
But you mustn't ever show it ; ever let th' fellers know it ; 

An' when you die they'll mention you went game! 



28 



HOOF BEATS 

TXT" HAT do the horses' hoofses say 

^ ^ Poundin' on the road ? 
Raisin' a blanket o' dusty gray, 

Complainin' o' their load? 
Listen, an' hear 'em talk — 
Gallop or trot or walk, 

This is what the hoofses say 

Poundin' on the road: 

" A mile! A mile! A mile! '* 

Boot 'em along an smile! 

The sabers clank to the plankety-plank 

''A mile! A mile! A mile!'' 

What do the horses' hoofses say? 

To some o' home they speaks — 
See 'em dreamin' the miles away 

An' many a smile they sneaks. 
Friends an' a people dear. 
Many a mile from here; 

To them the horses' hoofses say 

Poundin' on the road: 



29 



HOOF BEATS 

" A mile! A mile! A mile! '* 
We'll get home after awhile: 
Me, Oh, my! The road slides by — 
'' A mile! A mile! A mile! " 

What do the horses' hoofses say? 

To some they speaks o' grub; 
O' sweet repose at close o' day 

An' rest from saddles' rub. 
Cussin' beneath their breath, 
Nary a thought o' Death, 

They hears the horses' hoofses say 

Poundin' on the road: 

" Flankety, plankety, plankety, plank! 

'' Plankety, plankety, plank!'' 
" Giddap, you skate, er we'll he late - 

'' Plankety, plankety, plank!" 

That's what the horses' hoofses say — 

'* Plankety, plankety, plank! " 
Churnin' the weary miles away 

To the tune o' the sabers' clank. 
Gallop or trot or walk, 
Listen and hear 'em talk, 

That's what the horses' hoofses say 

Poundin' on the road: 



30 



HOOF BEATS 

" A mile! A mile! A mile! " 
Flankety, plankety, plank! 

"' A mile! A mile! A mile! "' 
Plankety, plankety, plank! 



31 



THE PASSING OF THE VETERANS 

NOW twenty men went out to-day and ain't a-comin' 
back; 
An' every one left twenty years behind him. 
An' four of them were medal men an' one wuz Sergeant 
Slack — 
A farmer waited at the gate an' signed him. 
Now Slack he fought in Texas an' he rode with Nelson 

Miles; 
An' Slack he wuz at Wounded Knee an' on them Cooban 

Isles ; 
An' Slack has had his mention an' his medals, too, in 
piles — 
But Slack he couldn't live on passin' glory. 



Oh, they soon forgot that Texas ride; th' fight at 

Wounded Knee; 
They soon forgot th' Injun wars an all his gallantry; 
They soon forgot Guaysimas an th' jam at El Caney — 
( They gave him barrels of mention, but forgot to raise 

his pay.) 

32 



THE PASSING OF THE VETERANS 

Th' one year men o' B troop cried at seein' Sergeant 
Burke — 
They recollect th' kindly way he trained 'em; 
(Th' oldest in th' regiment; he's left to go to work) ; 

Th' officers they showed him how it pained 'em. 
Now Burke he gained his mention for th' capture o' 

Pilar ; 
An' Burke he wears beneath his shirt a-many wicked 

scar, 
For Burke wuz in th' Boxer war an' also on Samar — 
But Burke he couldn't live on passin' glory. 



They soon forgot Manila an th' capture o' Pilar; 

Th' wounds he got at Inius an his bravery on Samar — 

They mentioned him for Pekin when he scaled the heathen 

wall 
But didn't raise his standin or raise his pay at all. 

Th' sick men they regretted when they noticed Private 
Day; 
They raised their weakish voices an' they cheered him. 
He's nussed this whole world over, w'ich is why he's 
gittin' gray — 
His tender tech to thousands has endeared him. 
Now^ Private Day for twenty years wuz in the same ole 

corps ; 
He started out with Injuns an' wuz in th' Moro war; 

3>Z 



THE PASSING OF THE VETERANS 

He saw his youth an' manhood fade an' finally he got 
sore — 
For Day he couldn't live on passin' glory. 

Th' riot in tJi camp he quelled wuz mentioned with th* 

rest; 
His service in th' cholera plague is medaled on his breast; 
His bravery in th' Frisco quake was talk for just a day — • 
{They medaled him an mentioned him, but didnt raise 

his pay.) 

Then Johnny Smith, th' hopeful one, he got a shout from 
all, 
For Johnny wuz th' last we thought would quit us, 
'Cause Johnny used to always say that congress, in th' 
fall. 
Would surely make a salary to fit us. 
An' Johnny gained his medal, but a life o' hope he spent; 
For twenty years he waited an' each congress came an' 

went. 
An' now at last he's give it up an' quit th' regiment — 
For Johnny couldn't live on passin' glory. 

Oh, now he^s quit th' service an is sweatin in a store; 
(His stripes they run from wrist to neck an every stripe 

a war;) 
His name goes down in history, or it mebbe will some 

day — 
As medaled by his congress w'ich forgot to raise his pay. 

34 



THE MARINE 

WITH a hitch to his trouserloons, and a seaman roll 
in his gait, 
His handiest tool a Springfield full and his home of 

armor plate; 
Cavalry, guns and foot, he one and all combines 
As he charges the foe ashore or fights the water mines. 
No gay parade for him ; his world a watery sheen — 
A rootin', tootin', 
Cuttin', shootin', 
Uncle Sam Marine! 



Arctic or torrid zone, he fights in the cold or the heat, 
He's back of the guns till the battle's won, the bulwark 

of the fleet; 
On cruiser or submarine, destroyer, torpedo boat 
He stands to his work with never a shirk, a cheer in his 

dusty throat; 
A human made of steel, he fights as a living machine — 
A rootin', tootin', 

Cuttin', shootin', 
Uncle Sam Marine! 
35 



THE MARINE 

Guantanamo to Samar; on the Chinaman's heathen 

ground 
He's left his dead as with steady tread he fought the 

world around. 
Horse and foot and guns, he one and all combines 
As he backs the ship's big guns or charges the enemy's 

lines. 
No flowers for his grave and none to keep it green — 
A rootin', tootin', 

Cuttin', shootin', 
Uncle Sam Marine! 

Is there trouble in Maroo, or some other far off port? 
The same which means they need marines for a scrim- 
mage of any sort? 
Is our counsel in distress on some unfriendly shore? 
Lower away the cruiser's launch with a file of the fight- 
ing corps! 
No spot on the starry flag with such to keep it clean 
As a rootin', tootin', 

Cuttin', shootin'. 
Uncle Sam Marine! 

With a hitch to his trouserloons, and a seaman roll in 

his gait. 
His handiest tool a Springfield full and his home of 

armor plate; 
Cavalry, guns and foot, he one and all combines 
As he charges the foe ashore or fights the water mines; 

36 



THE MARINE 

No gay parade for him, his world a watery sheen 
A rootin', tootin', 

Cuttin', shootin', 
Uncle Sam Marine! 



37 



"SOLDIERS!" 

("Almost universal hostile attitude of civilians toward the 
army uniform " — Reason ascribed by an army officer for de- 
sertion of soldiers.) 

A CHEER goes rippling along the street — 
A cheer! 
There's a rattle of horns and the steady beat 
Of throbbing drums and the scrape of feet — 
And a cheer goes rumbling along the street — 
What's here? 
Soldiers! 

Time of Peace and the empty drill; time of the Hostile 
Attitude ; 

Lo, the music it brings a thrill such as the Spirit of War 
imbued ! 

A sudden halt in the city swarms at the sight of the band 
and the uniforms — 

Hark ! A roar of wild applause — a silence of deep re- 
spect because 

The colors pass — 
Heads bare! The colors! 

Flash of flame as the sunbeams fall 
On the bayonet tips and the bugle call 

38 



SOLDIERS 

Goes sweet and clear to the highest wall — 
"Steady! All!" 

Rank on rank and the crowds breathe hard; see them 

sway to the music's spell — 
Regular Line or the National Guard; Hark! How 

rises the native yell! 
Lo, the city's rush stands still; (time of Peace and the 

empty drill.) 
Then arises a mighty roar as angry waves on a bitter 

shore — 

Silence! The colors! 
The colors pass! 

Lines of tape and the faces brown; 
Tailor-made from the soles to crown ; 
Cheer on cheer as the lines roll down through town — 
"'Round! Swing 'round!" 

Time of Peace and the empty drill; time of the Hostile 

Attitude ; 
Many a year since Bunker Hill, Gettysburg or the Spanish 

brood. 
Never a sign of national storms — mark the band and 

the uniforms! 
Lo, the city comes to pause — Hark! A roar of wild 
applause — 

Silence! The colors! 
The colors pass! 
39 



SOLDIERS 

A cheer goes rippling along the street — 

A cheer! 
Thunder of brass and the tuneful beat 
Of drums in time to the shuffling feet — 
And a yell swings up through the startled street 
What's here? 
Soldiers ! 



40 



T 



THE CITY THAT SERVED 

Manila — 1898-1912 

HEIR hair is shot with the Service white, as they 
sit in their clubs at ease, 
And watch the chattering boats slip in and out through 

the purple seas; 
They hear familiar tongues in the street and the beat of 

a heart they know 
From the town that lies in its silver robes, enriched by 

the sunset glow. 

Their eyes are strained with a grave concern, set deep 

by the old time fears; 
And they take their rest in a watchful way; the habit of 

bygone years; 
They talk of affairs of world concern and the change that 

time has wrought; 
Each face marked deep by the Service Stripes, that an 

hour of trouble brought. 

They sweep their hands to the town that breathes full 

lunged in its new found health; 
To the streets alive with a business rush and the quays 

piled high with wealth — 
41 



THE CITY THAT SERVED 

" We came," they say, " to a blare of bands, and the fervor 

of crashing cheers — 
And some of us that were Regulars then, have staid here 

as Volunteers! 



Oh, wt were the pride of the Middle States and the 

flower of the far Northwest ; 
While some of us came from the eastern coast and the 

South gave us its best — 
And we all were young, and we all were gay, and we all 

were fierce for war, 
But our battle has come since the stirring days of the old 

Eighth Army Corps! 

We took this town by the force of arms and we've held 

by the force of peace; 
And It's taken us most of twelve long years to scrub ofE 

the dirt and grease; 
But we can sit in our comfort now, for we've seen our 

dreams come true — 
And it wasn't the job that we came here for, but the 

work that we've staid to do! 

We've long forgotten the clatter of hoofs and the cheers 

of the charging line; 
The rattle and crash of small arms died along with the 

shrapnel's whine; 

42 



THE CITY THAT SERVED 

The thunder and peal of Dewey's fleet, and the chunk 

of the side wheel boats 
Have passed to the memory of youthful days, like the yells 

that stick in our throats! 

You'll find the rifles in the junk piles now, along with 

the haversacks; 
And the sentries' paths are grown with weeds while the 

field guns rust in stacks. 
Beyond the trenches of North Luzon where we laid our 

dead in rows 
We've scrubbed off the mud and rubbed in the blood 'till 

only a faint stain shows! 

There were no crowds with their wild applause, or music 

to cheer our souls; 
And the cables that sang of our deeds of war have yielded 

no peace-time tolls; 
We worked without hope of glory or gold — and we've 

seen our dreams come true: 
And we boast — not what we came here for — but the 

work that we staid to do! 



We gave the golden years of our youth and we're proud 

of the sacrifice — 
For over the ruin our own hands wrought we have seen 

this miracle rise; 

43 



THE CITY THAT SERVED 

So it's ours to present, with a pardonable pride, as we sit 

at our well-earned ease: 
The Queen of the lower tier of the world, and the pearl 

of the Southern Seas! " 



44 



OFFICER — AND GENTLEMAN 

OH, they die for the good of the service, or they live 
{on a laborer s pay!) 
And they must go in a gentleman s style, or live in a gen- 
teel way — 

Stand up! 

" Officers! 

Gentlemen! " 
Young they come to the colors; aye, young, and hearts so 

brave — 
And the years sit light to the last long fight, and old they 
pass to the grave! 

Perhaps his mother's kisses haven't dried upon his lips; 

Perhaps he kneels and prays on going to bed. 
Perhaps he's tender-footed, but I've seen him firmly rooted 

And bossing a command that's mostly dead. 

Perhaps he joined the service from a job in civil life; 

Perhaps he rose, by working, from the ranks. 
Perhaps he came from college, very shy on army knowl- 
edge — 

But he learns his lessons over and gives thanks. 

Perhaps they've made his path a little rough 
By ragging him a trifle now and then. 
45 



OFFICER — AND GENTLEMAN 

But when it comes to fighting and the bullets get to biting, 
You'll see him giving lessons to his men. 

Perhaps he's been a captain for the half his service life, 
And beardless kids have jumped him many grades. 

Perhaps he's disappointed and his temper's out-of-jointed, 
As men must get when pay and prospect fades. 

Perhaps he's many years of service in; 

(He started with the war of Sixty-Two;) 
Perhaps they've made him bitter, but they haven't made 
a quitter 
While there's a job of fighting left to do — 
Stand up! 

'' Officers! 

Gentlemen! " 
Oh, you'll die for the good of the service; but live in a 

gentleman s way; 
And after awhile, in a gentleman s style, you'll draw a 

gentleman's pay. 
Young you come to the colors, and old you'll pass to the 

grave — 
An epitaph ''In Duty's Path," and "All He Had He 
Gave." 



46 



NOSTALGIA 

T'VE dreamed o' seas o' silver where the war boats lie 
-■■ asleep ; 

O' rivers like broad ribbons strung so gay acrost the 
land. 
I've seen the hill-locked harbors where the cascoes slowly 
creep, 
An' heard the voice o' wimmin' sayin' words I under- 
stand. 

I've heard the gals a-poundin' rice wit' thumps like far- 
off guns; 
The caraboa tramp through me dreams in sheets o' 
slantin' rain; 
I see the lights spring up acrost the fields like dinky suns 
An' heard the tinkle o' guitars that gives me heart a 
pain. 

I dream o' ole Manila town a-squattin' by the Bay; 
I've smelled the fresh-sea breezes an' the perfume o' 
the hills; 
I've seen the Pasig river wit' the gugu kids at play 
An' I've awakened very tired from dream-time thrills 
an' drills! 

47 



NOSTALGIA 

Oh, I've been honin' for to see the soft-eyed mornin's lift 
Like filmy curtains o'er the rice an' hear the wind sing 
low; 
To see the dew-soaked flowers an' to feel God's gracious 
gift 
O' life to me an' everything that wants to live an' 
grow ! 

Me nose is filled wit' perfume an' me heart wit' vague 
regret — 
I'm longin' for the southern skies — for Leyte an' 
Cebu ; 
I'd love to see them Moro folks an' have a little sweat 
A-steppin' off a sentry path an' kiddin' gals I knew! 

I wake at night an' think I've felt me bunkie kick me 
slats ; 
I dream o' runnin' guard lines an' o' days o' fight an* 
fun; 
I don't recall no weary hours on outpost battin' gnats — 
But bless me boots an' body 'cause me days o' that are 
done ! 

Aye, bless me sister's ole black cat, I reads to-day wit' 
joy — 
The army's got its quota an' it don't need any more; 
An' let me tell you why that tickles Mrs. Casey's boy: 
I've been a-hangin' down around the 'cruitin' office 
door! 

48 



THE MORO MAN 

TH' Moro is a cur'ous bug, a cur'ous bug is he; 
He builds his house on little stilts out o' a bam- 
boo tree; 
An' when he's tired o' livin' there an' wants ter move 

his shack 
He makes his wife put down her wash an' moves it on 
her back! 

Chorus 

But you mustn't hurt th' Moro, boys. 

Or take away his gun; 
For if you do you'll surely hear 

From 'em at Washington. 
You mustn't hurt th' Moro, boys; 

He's jes' a little wild. 
Oh, treat th' Moro gently, boys, 

He's Uncle Sammy's child! 

Th' Moro is a cheerful cuss ; he never works at all ; 

He sits an' smokes a cigarette from springtime into fall; 

He ain't so fond o' cleanliness — he ruther likes th' 

dirt — 
An' all th' clo'es he has ter wear is jes' a little shirt! 

49 



THE MORO MAN 

Th' Moro is a peaceful cuss ; he never likes ter fight — 
" Barai! " is th' Moro's word from mornin' until night. 
He likes ter take a shot at us but jes' for practice sake — 
Oh, do not hurt th' Moro, boys; you might keep him 
awake ! 

Th' Moro is a funny cuss, for when we gits our pay 
He sells us anything he's got — an' steals it right away. 
He pots us from th' underbrush or whacks us with a 

knife — 
But you mustn't hurt th' Moro, boys, his children or his 

wife! 

Th' Moro is a friendly cuss ; it's jes' his little way 

Ter shoot at us through half th' night — an' ginur'ly all 

day; 
We catch him after chasin' him until we a'most faint; 
He's friendly then till next day when th' chances is he 
ain't ! 

Chorus 
Oh, do not hurt th' Moro, boys; 

He's Uncle Sammy's child; 
An' when you speak be sure your tones 

Are soft an' low an' mild; 
Oh, do not mind his knife, my boys; 

He's jes' a little riled; 
An' do not hurt th' Moro, boys — 
He's Uncle Sammy's child! 
50 



SENTRY-GO 

•• T LOVE a gu-r-r-r-l; a dear lee tie gu-r-r-r-l 
-^ She's all this wo-r-r-r-ld ter me! " 

Fat-eyed idol, slobberin' tears, 

Settin' by th' Peek-In wall; 
Gazfn' down th' empty years — 

Nary brains in you a-tall! 
Fat-eyed idol tell ter me — 

Private Jenks from Kansas state — 
What th' dickens do you see? 

How much longer will you wait? 

Fat-eyed idol 'f I wuz you — 

You wuz me an' things wuz so — 
Know th' fust thing I would do? 

Betcher life I'd up an' go! 
Betcher life I'd hurry back — 

Back ter Kansas on th' Kaw — 
Fat-eyed idol, fer a fack, 

Best ole place you ever saw! 

Sun a-shlnin' there right now 
On them fields o' wavin' corn — 

Say! It's life behind a plow 
Waitin' fer th' dinner horn! 
51 



SENTRY— GO 

Work Is only sorter play — 
Ain't no walkin' post at night, 

Hearin' sounds ter make you gray 
No one lookin' fer a fight! 

Fat-eyed idol, settin' there 

Warpin' in this heathen sun; 
Don't suppose you even care — 

Heck! You never have no fun! 
Never stirrin' from yer seat 

While th' heathens come an' go — 
Floppin' at yer pagan feet — 

Fat-eyed idol you are slow^! 

Fat-eyed idol, you don't know 
What is love a single lick; 

I wuz Ina Sawyer's beau — 
Ina lives acrost th' crick. 

When I whistled Sunday nights 
She would meet me an' we'd go 

Walkin' where there warn't no lights - 
Fat-eyed idol, you don't know! 



Fat-eyed idol, slobberin' tears — 
Settin' by th' Peek-in wall — 

Dry yer eyes an' wag yer ears, 
You ain't got no grief a-tall! 
52 



SENTRY — GO 

Think o' me from Kansas state! 

Grief? W'y say, my name is Grief! 
Fat-eyed idol, you kin wait — 

Here comes Private Jenk's relief! 

/ love a gu-r-r-r-l; a dear leetle gu-r-r-r-l 
She's all this wo-r-r-r-ld ter me! " 



53 



FIRST — AND LAST 

WHEN th' lean line crouched for th' final charge 
Then I seen his gills turn blue; 
An' I seen him blink an' I seen him shrink — 

But wot kin a sergeant do? 
Oh, I heard him wheeze at th' bullets' sneeze, 

An' I seen him dodgin' too; 
His face wuz old an' his feet wuz cold — 
But wot kin a sergeant do? 

Then it's "Skirmishers, forward!" 

An' th' guide is right — 
Oh, th' bugle's callin', callin'. 
Then: " Steady on th' left — an' start th' fight! " 
" Oh, who's that fallin', fallin'? " 

*' Comp'ny — halt! Lie — down!" 

When th' word come down an' we had to go, 

An' th' fightin' line drove through; 
Oh, I see him stop, an' I see him drop — 

But wot kin a sergeant do? 
I used th' boot an' I told him shoot — 

(An' he shot th' best he knew;) 
If his aim wuz bad, oh, his heart wuz sad — 

But wot kin a sergeant do? 
54 



FIRST — AND LAST 

Then it's: "Load!" an' ''Fire!" 

An' th' range is long; 
But th' haze is driftin', driftin'. 

It's *' Steady that left — an' keep it — strong! " 
An' th' light is siftin', liftin'. 

" Comp'ny — rise! 'Vance by rushes! " 

When th' lean line stopped from th' final charge 

I seen him — gills turned blue ! 
For there he lay on th' wicked day — 

But wot kin a sergeant do? 
( Boo-hoo ! ) 
Oh, he did his best, an' he got his rest — 

An' Fve told you all I knew; 
They said: " How brave! " as we dug his grave — 

An' wot kin a sergeant do? 

Then it's volleys three — 

An' spade him in! 
Oh, th' bugle's sighin', sighin'. 

He'll never see parade agin — 
An' a rooky's cryin', cryin'. 

" Comp'ny — 'tention ! Stack — arms ! " 



55 



GOING AND COMING 

\T 7HEN we went to Marishoa, warn't we feelln' gay, 
^ ^ Slippin' 'long th' dusty road an' singin' on th* 
way; 
When we went to Marishoa, warn't we feelin' fine — 
Eighty hoss, two hundred foot an' field guns in th' line: 
(Marishoa is up a hill — 
Marishoa is up there still — ) 
'Ray! We went to Marishoa feelin' pretty fine! 

When we came from Marishoa, bringin' o' our dead, 
Heads a-hangin' heavy an' our hearts as chunks o' lead; 
When we come from Marishoa, not a song wuz heard — 
Not a smilin' face we brought, not a cheerin' word — 

(Marishoa is up a hill — 

Marishoa is up there still — ) 
An' we left 'em layin' there with th' Chaplain's Word! 



S6 



THE REAR GUARD 

/^H, we're only a part o' th' Rear Guard, 

^^ We're only th' column's tail; 

They don't slap our backs when we checks th' attacks 

But they give us th' deuce if we fail. 
We're not to be figgered in action; 

It gets us no credit to fight ; 
We're back o' th' crushes to stop th' rear rushes 

An' stand on th' outposts all night. 

Chorus 

Oh, who would belong to th' Rear Guard, 
Th' Rear Guard, th' Rear Guard? 

Oh, who would belong to th' Rear Guard 
When they could be out in th' fight? 

We're wearin' no medals o' Honor, 

Our lot is to march in th' rear; 
An' when there is trouble to do duty double 

An' echo th' fightin' line's cheer. 
Oh! We're only a part o' th' Rear Guard 

A mile from th' Hero Advance — 
We leave a few dead but th' fightin's ahead 

An' our dead ones are only " a chance." 
57 



THE REAR GUARD 

Chorus 
Oh, who would belong, etc. 

Yes, we're only a part o' th' Rear Guard, 

Our duty's to watch an' to wait; 
Oh, our duty's behind an' we mustn't go blind, 

An' never must waken too late. 
We march an' we sweat uncomplainin'. 

We echo th' fightin' line's cheer — 
We march at a " ready " an' holds our own steady 

When trouble breaks out in th' rear. 

Chorus 
Oh, who would belong, etc. 



s8 



DATTO JAN 

YER a charmin' sort o' critter, 
Datto Jan. 
Though you looks on us quite bitter 

Datto Jan. 
Our religion ain't th' same 
An' our war's a different game — 
But we've got you for to tame 
Datto Jan. 

Chorus 
Datto Jan, oh, Datto Jan, you may snipe us when you can 
But you wouldn't be so bitter if you'd only understan'. 
Though you hide out in th' grass jest to stick us as we 

pass. 
We still looks on you some lovin', Datto Jan. 

Oh, we piles you up with tracts, 

Datto Jan. 
An' we piles you up in stacks, 

Datto Jan. 
An' that ain't all yer to get, 
Fer we'll 'similate you yet. 
An' we'll also make you sweat, 

Datto Jan. 
59 



DATTO JAN 

Chorus 
Datto Jan, oh, Datto Jan, yer a mos' peculiar man, 
You had better get religion er we'll keep you in th' pan ; 
You can't mind yer own affairs, so we'll help you out on 

shares ; 
You will hafter see it our way, Datto Jan. 

You have got too many wives, 

Datto Jan. 
More'n mos' folks in their lives, 

Datto Jan. 
An' yer friends back in th' States 
Hears them things wot we relates — 
Makes 'em sorry fer yer mates, 

Datto Jan. 

Chorus 
Datto Jan, oh, Datto Jan, you will hafter understan' 
That you can't be doin' business here upon th' Mormon 

plan. 
Yer contentment with yer lot makes them state folks 

sum'at hot, 
An' p'raps they're likewise jealous, Datto Jan. 

Oh, we knows you hates our flag, 

Datto Jan. 
So we hunts you with a Krag, 

Datto Jan. 
60 



DATTO JAN 

Though you hides out alone 
Out o' Uncle Sammy's zone 
We still claims you fer our own, 
Datto Jan. 

Chorus 
Datto Jan, oh, Datto Jan, yer a man wot's got some sand. 
An' you orter hear 'em pray fer you in Uncle Sammy's 

land. 
Oh, they'll show you at th' fairs an' they'll double up 

them prayers 
While we chases you with guns, Datto Jan. 

Don't you tells us wot you need, 

Datto Jan. 
With yer morals run to seed, 

Datto Jan. 
Fer we'll send school ma'ams galore — 
Marry 'em an' send some more, 
Don't ferget we've got a store, 

Datto Jan. 

Chorus 
Datto Jan, oh, Datto Jan, you will hafter understan* 
That you ain't a Moro any more but a American. 
You mus' learn how to behave er wx'll shove you in a 

grave. 
An' there ain't no use in kickin', Datto Jan. 

6i 



o 



EYES O' THE ARMY'' 

SCOUTS 

H, it's us that says no partin' 
When th' flyin' column's startin'; 
It's us that speaks no bye-byes to th' fellers on th' road. 
Oh, it's us that moves in quiet 
Findin' death an' slidin' by it; 
For silence is th' watchword where th' gapin' graves are 
sowed. 

Oh, it's us that does no shoutin'; 

(There's no chargin' when you're scoutin') ; 
It's us that looks a mile ahead an' sees a mile behind. 

Oh, it's us that does no shootin' 

But we keeps th' distance scootin'; 
It's us they calls th' army's eyes, but mostly we're its 
mind. 

It's us that's made o' leather 
Ridin' lighter than a feather; 
It's us that's shy o' clothin' and it's us that's short o' 
chuck. 
Oh, it's us that never lingers. 
An' it's us who speaks by fingers — 
It's us that sees th' bullets an' it's us that's trained to duck. 

62 



" EYES O' THE ARMY " 

It's us who live astraddle, 

(Grabbin' all our sleep in saddle) ; 
It's us that's just ahead o' night an' in advance o' day. 

Oh, it's us who do th' lookin' 

An' th' fightin' dates a-bookin' — 
Oh, it's us who die in whispers not to give our moves 
away. 



63 



TO THE COLORS 

IT isn't on th' firin' line you feel th' battle thrill, 
An' it isn't dodgin' bullets wot you know are meant 
to kill; 
An' it isn't when the bandmen play some patriotic air 
That you feel th' fever in yer blood an' wanter rip an' 

tear — 
But let th' ole familiar break come in th' tune they play; 
A silence for a moment an' you hear th' captain say: 
"Port Arms!" an' then th' air is split as though by 

shrapnel shell — 
" To th' colors! " sing th' bugles an' it's then you wanter 
yell! 

Some strange sensation 'pears to lurk in them short jerky 
notes ; 

A funny kind o' feelin' brings th' cheer inter yer throats; 

It's a fighty kind o' music an' we'd tackle all th' world 

When th' bugles give us notice that th' flag has been un- 
furled ; 

When th' band has stopped a moment an' when every- 
thing is still 

Except th' sound o' scrapin' feet — then comes th' bat- 
tle thrill — 

When th' bugles, soft beginnin' — but th' notes take up 
th' swell — 

A-singin' " To th' colors! " an' it's then you wanter yell! 

64 



A SONG FROM SULU 

WITH a bolo knife an' a great big kreese 
An' a rifle shinin' new; 
Th' Moro he goes huntin' Peace 
An' a soldier boy or two — 
(He likes 'em best by two!) 

Oh, he warshes clean an' he chants a prayer, 

An' he sings his do-se-do; 
Then he starts off on a howlin' tear 

An' he heads for Soldiers' Row — 

(He likes that Soldiers' Row!) 

You outs with a gun an' shoots him through, 

But he only waves his kreese; 
He never minds a shot or two 

When he is huntin' Peace — 

(He loves that quiet Peace!) 

Oh, he slashes through a company 
Like he was cuttin' cheese; 

Th' capting sez consolingly 

" Don't hurt him, if you please! " 
("He's harmless, if you please!") 

65 



A SONG FROM SULU 

He sez he's harmless, if you please 

As he goes carvin' through; 
Before you Ve had th' time to sneeze 

He's got an ear or two; 

(He likes 'em best by two!) 

With his bolo knife an' a great big kreese 

An' a rifle shinin' new — 
Oh, give th' gentle Moro Peace 

As he goes slashin' through — 

(He'll fight unless you do!) 



66 



CHRISTMAS IN SAMAR 

T'D like to see th' fellers sittin' 'round Bill Mason's 
-■' store, 
A-swappin' lies an' tellin' yarns to fairly make you roar. 

I'd like to see 'em sittin' 

Discussin' an' a-spittin' 
Terbacky juice upon th' stove an' also on th' floor. 

Hey! 

Say! 
I guess you never sot around an' tole them lies galore! 

I'd like to see th' snow a-driftin' through th' ghosty trees 
A-bringin' word o' Sandy Claws on every crimpy 
breeze. 

I'd like to hear 'er blowin', 
I'd like to see 'er snowin' 
'Till all th' drifts an' medder lanes is filled up to th' 
knees ; 

Hey! 
Say! 
An' gittin' cold an' colder 'till yer marrer's like to freeze! 

I'd like to see th' folks all gathered sittin' down to eat — 
Oh! Wouldn't I jest like to be a-holdin' down a seat! 

67 



CHRISTMAS IN SAMAR 

A-hearin' o' th' blessin', 

Then stuffin' turk an' dressin' — 
An' toppin' off with punkin pie an' apple cider sweet! 

Hey! 

Say! 
My mother's golden punkin pies hev never yet been beat! 

I'd like to see ole Paw an' Maw an' Sister an' th' rest — 
An' Emmy Marthy Martin, y-e-s, I'd like to see her 
best. 

I'd like to see her smilin', 
I'd like to go a-pilin' 
With her a-huntin' through th' barn, pretendin' for a 
nest! 

Hey! 
Say! 
It is that Emmy Martin, but I wonder how you guessed ! 

I'd like to see some country where th' sun don't alius 
shine ; 
I'd like to be a million miles from off th' firin' line; 
Where th' sun ain't alius hot 
An' no one's never shot — 
An' niggers ain't a-layin' 'round to split you up th' spine. 
Hey! 
Say! 
Them ain't no tears, gol durn it all; don't think you've 
ketched me cryin'! 

68 



o 



WHEN GOD FORGOT 

NCT God forgot a moment an' left th' lid off Hell, 
And th' Nineteenth Horse jest a foot away in ra- 
dius o' th' smell. 
'Twuz up in front o' Baliuag * 
Where we wuz mired in Death's black bog, 
An' them fumes from Hell raised quite a fog — 
(Which wuz bad for th' Nineteenth Horse.) 



From left to right ole Del Pilar wuz closin' his forces in ; 
An' we wuz jest a-waitin' there for our slaughter to 
begin ; 
We'd bit off more'n we could chew, 
An' didn't know zackly what to do. 
An' things wuz lookin' mighty blue 
For the good ole Nineteenth Horse. 

Ammunition almost out, an' men a-goin' fast; 

A mortal cinch it wuz to all that we weren't long to last. 
Left to right 'twuz poppety-pop, 
Th' gun-bolts goin' choppety-chop ; 
An' every time some un'd drop — 
(Which wuz bad for th' Nineteenth Horse.) 

Say! Have you ever shaken hards an' said "good day" 
to death? 
* Pronounced " Bally-wog." 

69 



WHEN GOD FORGOT 

Have you ever been so clost to Hell you smelt th' sulphur 
breath ? 
Heard yer requiem in th' air? 
Breezes singin' yer funeral prayer? 
Say! Have you ever yet been there? 
Th' same as the Nineteenth Horse? 

Why, Death seemed so darned neighborly we almost had 

to grin; 
No reinforcements In twenty miles an' Pilar closin' in; 
An' our nerve had busted under th' load, 
Quit like a balkin' mule'n th' road; 
Laid there, jest as if we'd growed, 
Did th' good ole Nineteenth Horse. 

Sudden some one off to th' left started in for to sing; 
A tenor voice a-risin' out above th' bullets' zing. 

"Nearer My God to Thee," th' air; 

A tenor voice so rich an' rare, 

Singin' as if without a care, 
On th' left o' th' Nineteenth Horse. 

A rooky kid it wuz that sang, a delicate white-faced lad; 
Scared he wuz when th' firin' broke, an' scared mos* 
fearful bad. 
Sang, I guess, to drown his fears. 
Sang to keep back frightened tears. 
An' singin' scares fright better'n cheers — 
(As is proved In th' Nineteenth Horse.) 
70 



WHEN GOD FORGOT 

Even th' flrin' out In front died away at the air, 
An' all th' fellers half raised up to listen an' to stare. 
Louder still them sweet tones rang — 
'' E'en though It be a cross," he sang; 
An' every feller felt a pang — 
(Which wuz strange for th' Nineteenth Horse.) 

Then somehow some one else joined In, an' somehow, 

one by one, 
Th' whole blamed line had took It up before th' song 
wuz done. 
Tough ole cusses there I see 
SIngIn' — each In a different key — 
An' a bum note sounded some like me — 
(That's a joke In th' Nineteenth Horse.) 

Now, somehow that ole homely hymn give us a battle 

thrill; 
An' some one yelled: " Come on, you men, there's some 
fight In you still ! " 
Out we doubled on th' jump, 
Shootin' fast as we could pump; 
An' Pllar's nerve took quite a slump — 
(Which wuz good for th' Nineteenth Horse!) 

I never have eggzackly heard jest what ole Pilar thought; 
But If his men don't know no hymns, by grab, It's time 
they ought! 

71 



WHEN GOD FORGOT 

We made their holes almighty hot; 
An' left a few o' them to rot, 
An' chast th' rest around a lot — 
(In th' style o' th' Nineteenth Horse!) 

Now, we thought, you see, God had forgot an' left th^ 

lid off Hell, 
An' that is th' time th' Nineteenth Horse got a whiff o' th" 
sulphur smell. 
But we found His 'tention still on us, 
An' He helped us out in that little fuss — 
Else they'd a-been a fearful muss 
O' th' good ole Nineteenth Horse. 



72 



THE TRUST OF THE YELLOW MAN 

T\ID you never hear o tK Yellow Man an th' trust 
J-^ o' th" Yellow Man? 
An th' shame that came to ole C Troop from th' blow 

o' a Yellow Hand? 
Listenj an you can understand tli soldiers' ban on th* 

Yellow Man — 
Hark an heed th' squad room tale o' th' trust o' th' 

Yellow Man! 



Up where ole Mount Yako tears a hole in th' azure sky, 
Where you hangs yerself on th' edge o' a cloud to keep 

yer clothin' dry; 
Up on th' eyebrow o' that hill where th' golden eagle 

wheels 
Fled th' ladrone Maximo, an' we rode at his heels. 
For a feller down in Washington — 
(A kind of an idiot son-of-a-gun — ) 
Had said that C troop was th' one 
To stick to Maximo 's heels. 

Now onct when we wuz in barracks an' a Portugee sailor 

chap 
Wuz abusin' a Chinese coolie, with many a kick an* 

slap — 

73 



THE TRUST OF THE YELLOW MAN 

Just a miserable coolie; an' our anger riz at th' sight — 
So we took th' part o' th' Yellow Man an' he turned 
an' made a fight. 

Now a Yellow Man ain't like a white, 
For he's easier to yield to might — 
But his teeth has got a nasty bite 
When he turns an' makes a fight. 



An' only by words we urged him on but words give lots 

o' cheer; 
An' th' Yellow Man's fight filled th' Portugee's heart 

with a chillin' cowardly fear; 
Then th' Yellow Man grinned his thanks to us; went 

grinnin' on his way — 
An' we all forgot th' Yellow Man until that later day — 
Th' day that's written for us in red; 
Th' day th' army speaks with dread; 
Th' day we counted by scores our dead — 
An' that wuz th' Yellow Man's day! 

Up we climbed on Yako, scared eagles takin' wing; 

Up, up, until we almost thought we'd hear th' angels 
sing ; 

An' when we wuz near th' top o' th' peak an' th' Prov- 
ince o' Sulucan 

Spread like a map beneath our feet we came on th' Yellow 
Man. 

74 



THE TRUST OF THE YELLOW MAN 

Face he had like a skeleton's head; 
Starved an' frightened, nearly dead; 
Eyin' us in nervous dread 

Was th' miserable Yellow Man. 

A coolie he'd been for Maximo; in heathen signs he told 
How he'd been robbed by the ladrone chief of a scanty 

store o' gold; 
Robbed to his very sandals an' left on th' trail to die — 
We trusted his monkeyish yellow face as he told us his 
yellow He. 

Robbed by Maximo, he said; 
Robbed an' beaten ; left for dead — 
Prayed for mercy ; prayed for bread — 
As he told us his yellow lie. 

We give him half o' what we had, an' we didn't have 

much to give; 
But we figgered that even a Yellow Man has got some 

right to live. 
An' he showed us welts where Maximo's whip had left 

his hide blood red — 
An' called in his heathen lingo his curse on the ladrone's 
head. 

Signed that he would show us where 
Maximo had his robber lair; 
An' we didn't doubt him, not a hair — 
Our curse on his yellow head! 
75 



THE TRUST OF THE YELLOW MAN 

Twenty miles, said th' Yellow Man, just twenty miles 

to go. 
An' not th' slightest danger in th' way that he would 

show ; 
An' louder still he made his prayer for revenge on th' 

robber band — 
(Now this is th' way o' th' shame that came from th' 
blow o' a Yellow Hand!) 

Twenty miles wuz what he said ; 
Twenty miles, by Joss' head — 
An' so we follered where he led — 
FoUered th' Yellow Man. 

All day long we pounded on through th' mountains o' 

Sulucan ; 
All day long we follered on in th' wake o' th' Yellow 

Man. 
An' he grinned his gratitude to us an' we grinned back 

at him, 
Suggestin' plans for th' robbers' fate in a manner ruther. 
grim ; 

An' everyone looked to his cartridge belt — 
For even th' rooky troopers felt 
That a tellin' blow would soon be dealt — 
An' th' ladrones chance wuz slim. 

An' we wuz deaf to our trainin's wisdom, an' blind to 
our years o' sight — 

76 



THE TRUST OF THE YELLOW MAN 

That he who trusts in a Yellow Man shall know a Yel- 
low Blight; 
But on we spurred our hosses through th' mountains o' 

Sulucan — 
Follerin' up an' follerin' on in th' wake o' th' Yellow 
Man. 

Climbin' up on crag an' knob — 
A slippin', swearin', sweatin' mob — 
An' th' tired rookies 'd almost sob 
As we follered th' Yellow Man. 

An' just as night wuz closin' in we rode through a river 

bed, 
An' th' Yellow Man seemed to vanish in th' darkness 

out ahead ; 
An' then an' only then it wuz we knew that we'd been 

trapped — 
For it seemed that Hell had opened an' a thousand fire- 
bolts snapped. 

Then we knew th' Yellow Man lied — 
When we got it hot from every side — 
An' many a man in that first fire died — 
As Hell about us wrapped ! 

All night long we laid an' fought as only trapped men 
can; 

All night long we heard th' voice o' th' treacherous Yel- 
low Man ; 

77 



THE TRUST OF THE YELLOW MAN 

Givin' commands to th' ladrone band an' showin' a 

leader's head — 
An' all night long we fought 'em back an' dead piled 
up on dead; 

Fought 'em from th' ragin' flood; 
Fought 'em from th' banks o' mud — 
Th' water red-dyed with our blood 
An' dead piled up on dead. 

Not many are left in ole C troop that wuz caught in that 

river bed — 
(For th' ladrones tell their children how we made a 

dam o' our dead;) 
Not many a trooper can tell to-day th' tale o' that final 

stand — 
How we fought 'em off there, back to back, an' fought 'em 
hand to hand! 

(Or th' form our vengeance later took — 
A mango tree with a Yellow Man shook — 
But it's all writ down in th' officers' book — 
Th' tale o' that final stand!) 

Many a grave is seen to-day in th' Province o' Sulucan; 

Many a mound is there to mark our trust in th* Yellow 
Man; 

Mehhe now you can understand th* soldiers* ban on th* 
Yellow Man — 

For an army learned a lesson from our trust o* th* Yel- 
low Man. 

78 



THE SERGEANTS PRAYER 

NOW, God, just listen a moment: there's Carroll an' 
Kelly an' me; 
We're the last o' the scoutin' detachment, an' the fightin' 

is up to us three. 
Now, God, You know I'm no praylst, an' I haven't be- 
spoken You much. 
But it strikes me the time has arriven when we oughta 
get somewhat in touch. 

Now, God, we're huntin' no favors; we asks but a good 

even break; 
Our lives have gone into the dice-box; You give us a 

roll when You shake; 
They've got the advantage, that's certain — it's three to 

a hundred or more — 
We've muddled it somehow — but take it — an' Lord ! 

won't the Captain be sore! 

I know that Carroll's a pagan, an' Kelly, I'm fearin', 

is worse — 
But I wisht, if You can. You won't notice whenever 

they happen to curse. 
'Cause, God, though they're wicked, I need 'em ; an' 

kindly don't take 'em away — 
They shoot like the devil in action if they are ruther dubs 

on the pray! 

79 



THE SERGEANTS PRAYER 

Now, God, you stand by an' You watch us; we may 

prove a strikin' surprise — 
They've got us outnumbered a little, so we're trimmin* 

'em down to our size; 
You umpire — but watch Your decisions — and try for 

to see the plays right; 
Don't help us, but don't help the gu-gu's — stand by for 

a hell of a fight! 

Yes, God, as I say, I'm not prayful, but, anyway, I'm 

some sincere — 
(Them rifles kick up such a racket You hardly kin hear.) 
There's Carroll an' Kelly, they're heathens, but notice 

'em here at my side — 
An' if you are asked did I pray, God, just mention, please, 

Sir, that I tried. 

An' Carroll an' Kelly, please watch em' — their sins 

ain't so many, I guess; 
I know 'em as pretty good geezers ; they've shared me my 

blankets an' mess; 
We're askin' no favors of no one; we're huntin' no tears 

— nor a cheer; 
But, God, don't You help out the others — an', kind 

God, please notice our rear. 

An', God, though my words seem some tangled an' my 
prayin' may sound ruther strange, 
80 



THE SERGEANTS PRAYER 

Remember I'm bein' some hurried, an' tryin' to locate 

their range; 
An' Carroll an' Kelly are pagans — but, Lord, don't 

forget they're my chums — 
You'll find 'em as game as they make 'em — an' ready 

for Death when he comes! 

Then thankin' you, God, for attention, please give us 

the best that You can — 
We're willin' to die if we have to — but we each want to 

go like a man! 
An' if we're to go we would like it — Carroll an' Kelly 

an' me — 
To go in a bunch, all together — if You'll kindly find 

quarters for three! 



81 



''DIXIE'' 

(John Blank, a member during the Civil War of Morgan's 
Raiders, died. . . . With his dying breath he hummed the 
air to "Dixie" — Ne^vs item.) 

"O OLL back the close drawn curtain of years; he lives 

-■-^ in another day; 

He's riding again with Morgan's men, into the thick of 

the fray. 
Roll back the curtain, he lives again in the midst of the 

battle smoke; 
He hears the crash of the musketry ; sees the- flash of the 

saber stroke. 
Booted and spurred he is in the charge, riding there with 

the van 
While the trumpets call and brave men fall; hears the 

music of the band — 

" In Dixie land I'll take my stand." 

Beyond the curtain he sees the glint of the waving stars 

and bars; 
As he rides again with Morgan's men, a Southern son 

of Mars. 
The clash of steel and the horses' hoofs ring music to 

his ears — 
And high above the battle roar he hears the rebel cheers. 

82 



" DIXIE '' 

*' To the charge! " the bugles sing to him as the vision 

fades away — 
And the band shrills out that same old air it played in 

another day — 

" ril live and die for Dixie." 

Let fall the curtain; the music is hushed; for him the 

battle is done; 
The clamor of arms has died away; for him the victory 

is won. 
Mustered out, his name will appear on the Great First 

Sergeant's roll; 
While his deeds of the past live on and on in earthly 

screed and scroll; 
Let fall the curtain, but let the band in solemn cadence 

play 
The old, old air that cheered him on, back in that other 

day — 

'* Away, away, away! " 



83 



SAILING ORDERS 

WE'RE goin' back ; we're goin' back ; th' orders come 
to-day ; 
We're goin' to hit th' outward track that leads Manila 
way. 

Hi! Listen, you, Juanita! 
Oh, hear this, you, Chiquita! 
We're comin' back to see you where th' tropic breezes 
play! 

Kiss us. Belle an' Betsy, we're a-goin'; 

Press us clost, you won't have us for long. 
Don't you hear them sweet-tongued bugles blowin', 

Tearin' out that sailin' orders song? 
Bye-bye, Jane and Nellie, we must leave you, 

For our hearts has heard th' stronger call; 
Adios ! O' course, we hates to grieve you — 

We'll come back some day to see you all! 

Hark! You hear them ole church chimes a-ringin', 

Smell th' breath o' incense in th' air; 
Listen! You kin hear them maidens singin' 

As they troop their way to mornin' prayer. 
Don't you feel th' touch o' perfumed breezes 

As sweetheart's touch on lover's cheek must feel? 
Cram 'er, capt'in, till th' ole tub wheezes — 

See th' waves a-dashin' 'neath th' keel! 

84 



SAILING ORDERS 

Juana, Paballta an' Dolores, 

See yer soljer boys a-coming back 
For to tell you all them same ole stories — 

Pete an' Bill an' Sam an' Joe an' Jack. 
Kiss us; tell us you are glad to see us — 

Them wot's left, for some have gone away; 
Glad to love us while yer brothers tree us — 

Hi! We're comin' back, an' some will stay! 



85 



GENTLEMEN OF JEOPARD 



WHEN MEN DIE 

T'VE seen 'em die in bed with a nurse to pat the head — 
-■- A priest to give 'em solace, and some incense when 

they're dead; 
But if they've time to think ere they drop beyond the 

brink 
A woman's face comes to them and a woman's name is 

said. 



I have seen them go away before they'd time to say 

A single word; men good and bad, who died at work or 

play. 
But could we search the mind, treasured there we'd 

surely find 
A woman's face; a woman's name they'd meant to speak 

some day. 



89 



BALLAD OF FRENCH GEORGE 

REPORTER for the Mornin' Mail? Well, this is 
what I see — 
(We're waitin' for the wagon an' the coroner an' 
cops;) 
French George was buyin' drinks for us an' spendin' 
money free — 
I hears a noise like '' blowie! " An' then French George 
he drops. 

You know, George has a line o' cribs an' twenty gals or 

more ; 

He wears four carat diamonds an' he drives a big 

machine — 

That's Georgie, yonder, dyin' on a rotten dirty floor — 

His eyes a-roUin' upward an' his face a-turnin' green! 

He stood here buyin' booze for us an' braggin' by the 
hour; 
No decent guy would listen, but y'see we all are broke ; 
He cracked about his money an' his wimmin an' his 
power — 
French George, who wallers yonder, an' who's just 
about to croak. 

90 



BALLAD OF FRENCH GEORGE 

A kid not half as tall as me — a furriner I'd say 

Steps up to George a-standin' here an' says to him, so 
low: 
"Where is my seester, meester?" An' French George 
he laffs so gay — 
"She's gone away, you funny boy," says George; 
" that's all I know." 

Well, this kid he has a hatchet, w'ich French George he 
did not see; 
(An' no one else around here ever saw one put to 
use — ) 
The kid he swung this hatchet an' he swung it from his 
knee — 
He copped French George upon the sconce an' split 
him like a goose! 

Well, French George has got a line o' cribs, so someone 
bought a drink — 
An' someone else he took the kid and chased him out 
the rear; 
An' while French George is dyin' there we're tryin' hard 
to think 
W'ich way the feller went so we can give them bulls 
the steer. 

W'y, sure, we called the wagon — within an hour or so 

An' hunted for a doctor, 'bo, but couldn't find a one; 
91 



BALLAD OF FRENCH GEORGE 

The kid ran east, or north, or west, or maybe south, 
y'know — 
I don't know w'ich direction but I know that he could 
run! 

An' so French George is on his way, his diamonds, dough 
and such — 
Ain't worth two whoops in Hell, 'bo, an' just stick it 
in your squibs 
That all his pull down at the hall won't git him very 
much 
When he comes to settle for them gals an' for that line 
o' cribs. 



92 



" THE MAN WHO CAN'T GO BACK " 

T 'VE seen him down In Borneo, a-workin' in a store; 
-^ Half naked, an' most starved to death he looked ; 
I've seen him strut in Paris when he had the dough 

galore, 
An' as an able seaman seen him booked. 
An' always when I see him he has the same ole say; 
He speaks o' home an' wants the news about the U. 

S. A.— 
An' hums a little ballad w'ich the burden o' his lay 
Is '* Some day when I go home! " 

Chorus — 
" Some day when I go home; some day when I turn back; 
Some day you II hear me; some day you II cheer me 

Marchin down the ole home track! 
Some day — a Monday; some day — a Sunday — 

Some day Fm goin home!" 

I've seen him in the Argentine, a jockey for his meals — 

(You mind he rode for Baldwin long ago?) 
I've seen him on the Panama an' heard his soft appeals 

At Juarez, where he'd let his whiskers grow. 
An' always when I see him I find he dreams a dream 
O' home, w'ich is the States, you know, an' o' a silver 
gleam 

93 



''THE MAN WHO CAN'T GO BACK'' 

O' lights that crown the cities an' he lets off all his steant 
On "Some day when I go home! " 

Chorus — '' Some day, etc." 

I've seen him down in Algiers, in the Frenchman's 
foreign corps; 

I've seen him in Alaska, froze to death; 
He worked an automatic in Estrada's rag-tag war 

An' helped Spain run the Sultan out o' breath. 
It makes no difference where you're from; it may be 

loway — 
An' he from Maine, he'll want to talk about the U. S. A.,. 
An' always, over an' over, the burden o' his lay 

Is ** Some day when I go home! " 

Chorus — 

I've watched him dealin' seconds in a Red Sea liner's 
game; 
I've seen him kneel in Rome, as if at prayer; 
I've watched him go it fast an' loose, with some fair^ 
furrin' dame — 
An' sidestep many, an' many a well laid snare. 
He's just outside the statute an' the extradition law; 
He's quick on sizin' strangers, an' quicker on the draw — 
But quicker still in loosenin' the rein upon his jaw 
On *' Some day when I go home! " 
94 



"THE MAN WHO CAN'T GO BACK'' 
Chorus — 

I've seen him fip^ht a dozen men around a German park, 
In rough house style, the way he's learned to do; 

Because some one o* them had made an innocent remark 
About the stars an' stripes, an' made him blue. 

He's walloped docks at Lisbon, an' I've seen him eat a 
meal 

With natives in Tahiti, but I never heard him squeal 

About his fate, he only pulls that never endin' spiel 
O' " Some day when I go home! " 

Chorus — 



95 



THE BOY SHE USED TO KNOW 

TIMES when he comes staggering home, breathing a 
wicked curse; 
Out of the drums of the midnight slums, empty of soul 

and purse; 
She waits for him with a patient smile, and her eyes so 

plainly show 
That she sees in him not the wreck we see, but a boy she 
used to know. 

Times when he's broken in pride and health and the 

world says, " Failure, here." 
And he sidles through life with the fear of strife that the 

beaten men always fear; 
She doesn't see what the world must see, that he's dropped 

to a depth so low — 
And her eyes light up with the light of love for the boy 

she used to know. 

Times, maybe, when the prison doors have closed on his 

worthless back. 
And they've cried his name and his brand of shame to the 

world in a wild attack ; 
She waits for him with that patient smile through the 

years that tread so slow — 
And she sees in him in his bitterest hour the boy she used 

to know. 

96 



THE BOY SHE USED TO KNOW 

She looks on him with the eyes that saw his charm In the 

time of youth; 
In the golden days when they planned their ways, and 

his words were the words of truth; 
She waits for him and she prays for him as she prayed in 

the long ago, 
For she sees in him not the man we see, but the boy she 

used to know. 



97 



THE PICK AND SHOVEL BRIGADE 

WE march to the marks o' the blue print sharks, an* 
the tune o' commands profane, 
As our captains drive us wit' pick handle swords in the 

heat an' the blindin' rain; 
We're takin' the trenches along the route wherever the 

expert steers — 
An' we're first in the firin' line o' work at the heels o' 
the engineers; 
Blizzard an' snow an' the heat o' below — 

Wherever the expert steers; 
Our lines fight through wit' a loud *' whoo-roo ! " 
At the heels o' the engineers! 

Our uniforms are a greasy blue, an' our haversacks bat- 
tered pails; 
Our flag is a dirty square o' red that's planted where 

danger hails — 
An anarchist red which marks the spot that the experts 

eye wit' dread, 
That we discover an' show so plain wit' our flag — an* 
a couple o' dead! 
Shovel an' pick — a laugh at ole Nick 

As we fight for our daily bread; 
Look out for our flag — that dirty red rag 
That marks the place o' our dead! 

98 



THE PICK AND SHOVEL BRIGADE 

We charge to the roar o' a dynamite blast an' the music 

o' fallin' rock; 
Our lines swing first through the New-Found-Ways 

while the earth still shakes from the shock; 
Mountains to move an' rivers to change — or a job on 

a railroad grade 
Bobbin' ahead at the far-flung front are the men o' our 
queer brigade. 
First we go wit' our ole " yee-ho " 

By the maps that the experts made; 
It's a good, tight fit through paths unlit 
On the line o' our queer brigade. 

Biddy an' Marreuch stay home, an' they wait 'till our 

crew comes back; 
(Some o' us come on shutters, too, from the mill an' the 

hill an' track;) 
An' Biddy an' Marreuch pack the pails an' watch the 

flag o' our corps, 
An' weep, as wimmin o' soldiers do, when we come back 
from the war! 
Broken an' hurt an' covered with dirt — 

From the field where the rock slides roar; 
They ain't no cheers, but plenty o' tears 
When we come home from the war! 

You'll find our strange corps over the world, wit' our 
pails an' picks in hand, 
99 



THE PICK AND SHOVEL BRIGADE 

Ready to move an' ready to do in any ole part o' the land. 
Down in the sewers an' subways, too, we fight for a dol- 
lar a day — 
An' few o' us speak in the same ole tongue, but we sweat 
in the same ole way! 
Dago an' Mick wit' shovel an' pick 

That rattle a tune so gay; 
We talk by signs on the workin' lines 
But we sweat in the same ole way! 



100 



A DIVORCE PROBLEM 

T'M givin' her bonds worth millions; Dell's a quiet 

-■- old girl; 

And she knows that I've worked a lifetime, and how I'm 

wan tin' my whirl. 
And I guess if she reads the papers — they've roasted me 

to a crisp — 
She knows I'm goin' to Paris with a female will-o-the- 

wisp. 
But my lawyers say when they told her she took my terms 

with a nod; 
"Tell him," she said, "it's settled — but what will he 

say to God? " 

Well, I ain't so religious, that's certain ; but you see I 

know what she meant; 
And it's carried me back to the eighties, when we started 

without a cent. 
A cottage over in Brooklyn, and pickin's were mighty 

slim. 
But Dell she was long on layin' the most of her trust 

in Him. 
And we dreamed when I'd be a builder — I started 

carryin' a hod — 
And Dell hung onto the money, along with her faith in 

God. 

lOI 



A DIVORCE PROBLEM 

Many a short cut offered, but I followed a woman's 

whim. 
For Dell she was always warnin' : " What would we 

say to Him? " 
So I came by my money honest, my conscience clear as a 

bell — 
A bit o' fear of Him In my heart that came from a life 

with Dell. 
But now that she's asked the question It's given my mind 

a prod — 
Even though Dell has said all right — what will I say 

to God? 



I02 



BALLAD OF HOP LOOEY 

A -LAYIN' In a hop joint an' a-smokin' of yen shee 
•*■ ^ Hop Looey tole this tale to me, to me he sez, sez he: 
" Don't never trust a woman fer to do a thing fer you; 
Don't never trust a woman fer she'll turn you if you do " ; 
An' this is wot Hop Looey tole, he sez to me, sez he — 
A-layin* in a hop joint an' a smokin' of yen shee. 

Back yonder in that Chiny land along the Ho-Ang-Ho 
There is a purty little town, the w'ich he usta know; 
Back yonder in that little town he lived a happy life 
Until he comes to buy a gal to be his lovin' wife — 
Along the Ho-Ang-Ho — 
Ho ho! Ho ho! Ho ho! 
He comes to buy Miss Almond Eyes to be his Win' 
wife! 

Six thousand bucks she cost him an' he had the price to 

pay — 
The w'ich he had been savin' up agin a rainy day; 
He sez the gal wuz worth it, an' he shorely oughta 

know 
The scale o' female prices down along the Ho-Ang-Ho — 
Along the Ho-Ang-Ho — 
Ho ho! Ho ho! Ho ho! 
Fer wimmin come to somethin' down along the Ho- 
Ang-Ho ! 

103 



BALLAD OF HOP LOOEY 

(He tells this tale to me; a-lookin' wise at me — 
A-layin' in a hop joint an' a-smokin' of yen shee.) 

His daddy wuz a widder man, his mammy bein' dead — 

His daddy blessed the weddin' of them by the Joss' head ; 

An' punk sticks burned some freely an' everyone wuz 
glad — 

An' most of all, Hop Looey sez, wuz Looey's widder dad. 
Upon the Ho-Ang-Ho 
He laughs a loud "Ho ho!" 

An' give to them his blessin' did Hop Looey's widder dad. 

(Most glad his dad, sez he; a-lookin' wise at me — 
A-layin' in a hop joint an' a-smokin' of yen shee!) 

Next mornin' Loo finds out his dream is somewhat to 
the bad — 

It seems his bloomin' little wife has run of¥ with his dad ! 

They took a boat fer Hong Kong an' they sails fer 
Frisco — Oh 

Hop Looey's heart wuz mighty sad back on the Ho-Ang- 
Ho— 

Upon the Ho-Ang-Ho 

They laughs a loud '* Ho ho! " 

A-leavin' Looey mighty sad back on the Ho-Ang-Ho! 

(Hop Looey sez he wuz so sad he wept most tear- 
fully— 

He tells me as he takes the hook to scrape some more yen 
shee. ) 

104 



BALLAD OF HOP LOOEY 

He foUers them to Frisco an' he makes an orful roar 

To find them livin' happy, an' they keeps a little store; 

They keeps a little store, they does; he gives them no 
surprise — 

An' sad to say they makes him pay fer everything he buys. 
They laughs the same " Ho ho! " 
As upon the Ho-Ang-Ho — 

They even doubles up sometimes on prices when he buys. 

(He tells this tale to me a-lookin' wise at me — 
A-layin' in a hop joint an' a-smokin' of yen shee.) 

Six thousand bucks she cost him an' that same he now is 

shy — 
They won't allow him credit when he comes around to 

buy; 
They won't allow him credit an' he feels it mighty bad 
A-figgerin' he wuz buncoed by the maiden an' his dad — 
Along the Ho-Ang-Ho — 
Ho ho! Ho ho! Ho ho! 
Fer wimmin come to somethin' even on the Ho-Ang-Ho J 

(He tells this tale to me; a-lookin' wise at me 

Before he drops to gentle sleep a-smokin' of yen shee!) 



105 



o 



THE SONG OF THE EXILES 

Arizona — 1912 

UR dreams are dreams of the big white lane, and 
the glories of glittering lights; 
Our themes are themes of the crowds we knew and our 

stories of brilliant nights; 
And our minds dwell long on the star-set hours, and the 

things that we used to do 
As we muse on the time of our health and youth and 
pray that our dreams come true — 
And we chant a prayer at eventide 
As we watch the stars In their splendor ride 
Over the world for which we've sighed — 
" Lord, be with us, 
Stay with us ! " 

We march by the Sunset LImlteds and we camp at the 

Mission Inns — 
Our flag Is the Red Cross flag of hope and our hope that 

the best man wins; 
So we spend our time In the house tent kraals, with our 

thin lines faced to the foe 
And we greet the night as the time of dreams of the days 

that we used to know. 
106 



THE SONGS OF THE EXILES 

Yet we pray as we face the rising sun 
And the hours of the day begin to run: 
" Lord, Oh, Lord, Thy will be done — 

Be with us, 

Stay with us! " 

Our doctor-generals have kept our camps flung wide 

'neath the Southwest skies; 
And we've fought our batteries of great resolve with a 

courage that never dies; 
So we spend our time on the sun-splashed plain that the 

healing South Wind sweeps — 
And each morning that marshals our thin reserves finds 
our dreams lying dead in heaps! 
So we kneel when darkness comes, and pray — 2 
(There's very little that we can say;) 
** Lord, Oh, Lord, Give us this day — 
Be with us, 
Stay with us! " 



107 



JUDGE BARLEYCORN 

OLE Judge Barleycorn he presides over the District o' 
Down an' Out; 
Jurisdiction beyond the Poles an' a little o' Hell I have 

no doubt. 
Maybe the warden's books don't show but the warden 

knows that his job was born 
Out o' the District o' Down an' Out an' the jurisdiction 
o' Barleycorn! 

Ole Judge Barleycorn he's severe ; Misery his bailiff an' 

Woe his clerk; 
Draws his jurors from Fathers' Sins; capable men for the 

judge's work. 
Maybe the warden's books don't show but the warden's 

wise an' he understands 
Ninety per cent, of his people come from the judge's 

district an' the judge's hands. 

Who are the witnesses? Rise an' stand! Alcohol, in 

a dull brocade; 
Wine an' WImmIn an' a bad ole Song pass to the desk 

in a sad parade. 
Who the attorneys? Death for the State; Tears for the 

prisoner all forlorn — 
(No defense from the prisoners' dock goes in the court o' 

Barleycorn.) 

1 08 



JUDGE BARLEYCORN 

Never a quibble o' laws unwrlt; never a charge but the 

charge " Did Wrong " — 
Ole Judge Barleycorn sets an' frowns; pities the weak 

an' singes the strong. 
Hearks to the pleas o' I-Regret or Wimmin's Tears 

wit' a look o' scorn — 
Better a cry o' Never Again when they come to the 

court o' Barleycorn. 

The warden credits 'em " Judges-This," '' Judges- 

That"; however styled 
They know blame well that their sentences came long 

before the charge was filed. 
Blood on their hands an' blood in their hearts; haunted 

by fear an' conscience torn — 
Maybe the warden's books don't show but they came 

from the court o' Barleycorn! 



109 



THE ONE-CHANCE MEN 

(COAL MINE INSPECTORS) 

MAIN North vomits a fearful roar, and seventy men 
are down in the hole ; 
Dagoes, Japs, and a nigger or two, but probably never 

a living soul — 
Probably not — but there may be One — is there a man 

who will go and see? 
Swinging a safety lamp he comes, and, God, what a man 
of men is he! 
Overalled, capped, and a querulous grin; 
Ducking his head as he dives in — 
Slapping aside the weeping girls: " Don't let them follow 
me!" 
Into the dismal pit he goes, 
By the light of the lamp that faintly shows 
Where the dead lie dead in mournful rows — 
God ! What a man a man can be ! 

Oxygen-helmeted the experts come, picking their way 

with expert care; 
Far ahead in the aching gloom they hear the inspector 

loudly swear; 
Over the rock falls, into the rooms, where the roof still 

trembles so dangerously — 
no 



THE ONE-CHANCE MEN 

God and the state have sent a man, and, God, what a 
man Is he! 

Hair singed gray by the fires of Death — 

Lungs corroded by the noisome breath 
Of a hundred mines and a thousand times when he earned 
his salary; 

Over the walls of the treacherous shale; 

Ears sharp set for a human hall — 

On he goes down the Death wind's trail — 

God! what a man a man can be! 

Main North's mouth breathes the breath of Hell, and its 

guts are rotted with afterdamp — 
But God and the state send a man to see, and he goes 

looking with a safety lamp; 
Death lurks there, but It hides Its face from a man who 

passes so carelessly — 
Poking his light In Its ver>^ eyes — God, what a man of 
men Is he! 
Grease and grime to the roots of his hair; 
Blear-eyed, bleeding as he tests the air; 
Tests the roof and tests the walls and notes where the 
dead must be; 
On through the Hell-rlmmed hole he creeps. 
Where the mules are lying In six-team heaps; 
Dodging the falls by quick-turned leaps — 
God ! what a man a man can be ! 



Ill 



THE ONE-CHANCE MEN 

It's a hundred to one chance never a man has lived for a 

moment after the blast — 
But the mine inspector's a One-Chance-Man, and he fol- 
lows that chance to the very last; 
And the women pray at the mouth of the pit as the dead 

file out so mournfully — 
While down in the depths he toils for them — God, what 
a man of men is he! 
Listens and prays for a human cry; 
Feels of the dead as he passes them by — 
Feels for the tunk of a human heart, where the forms 
stretch silently; 
Follows a hope however slim; 
Maps a path through the chaos grim 
For the rescue gangs who must follow him — 
God ! What a man a man can be ! 



112 



THE ONE WITH THE CLOUDY EYES 

I A OWN in a drum on SIdewIse street, where the red 
-■— ^ lights burn with a wicked leer, 
We laid Long Charley down to die, and Charley knew 

that the end was near. 
For he'd fought with a copper in Sidewise street and he 

got a ball where his lungs should be, 
So we laid him out on the bar to die and held him down 

with a heavy knee. 

His life blood dripped on the bottles and ice and stained 

the bar to a darker hue. 
But we kept him from floundering about the place and 

held him quiet till Death got through. 
And, dying, he babbled of many things that we never 

had heard him speak before, 
And his words fell strange to a listening group as his life 

blood spattered the sawdust floor. 

His hands were stained with another's gore, and the life 

he had lived was as black as night; 
His name was the name for all things bad and his hair 

had grayed from the prison blight; 
But down in the drums on Sidewise street they are still 

repeating what Charley said, 
When, dying, he opened a heart long sealed and spoke as 

a man who moved with the dead. 
113 



THE ONE WITH THE CLOUDY EYES 

"A woman is bending o'er me with a light in her cloudy 

eyes 
That shines as sure and tender as the stars in yonder skies; 
She is robed in a gown of roses exhaling a fragrant breath. 
And I feel her fingers against my cheek as she whispers 

her name is Death. 

''Aye, Death; and back behind her is a woman as harsh 

and cold 
As a wicked night in winter; whose features are drawn 

and old; 
Who smiles with a weary effort, and who carries a gun 

and knife — 
And about her rattles a cloak of mail as she whispers her 

name is Life! 

"And they're telling me choose between them, and Life 

is bidding me rise — 
{Oh, the light is sure and tender that shines in the cloudy 

eyes!) 
Then the old days pass before me, and Life is crouched 

for a blow — 
Til go in the way I want to, as long as I have to go! 

''Til take the one with the cloudy eyes and you toss for 

the other one; 
Tve had my fill of hell-on-earth, and now Tm glad it's 

done. 

114 



THE ONE WITH THE CLOUDY EYES 

ril take the one that looks so sure and you may have your 

Life — 
For I know the one with the cloudy eyes will be as true 

as a wife! '' 

Out of the drum on Sidewise street, where the red lights 

bum with a wicked leer, 
We took Long Charley away to the morgue and left him 

there with never a tear; 
For we knew that Charley had made his choice, and most 

of us felt that the choice was wise — 
And he went away from Sidewise street in the arms of 

the one with the cloudy eyes. 



"5 



''JOHN YEGG'' SPEAKS 

^^ T UNGLED up " at Kenesaw an' boilin' out some 
J "soup"; 

(Peegum Pete, th' Bosting Bean an' San Diego Shine.) 
Settin' 'round a campfire in an' Interestin' group, 

Speakin' o' th' things they'd seen a blowin' down th' 
line. 
Tellin' funny stories 
O' their former glories — 
(Peegum Pete, th' Bosting Bean an' San Diego Shine.) 
Bodily strong an' ables, 
Settin' tellin' fables — 
How they'd hit th' rattler long o' wimming an' th' wine! 

" Onct I cracks a residence," begins th' Bosting Bean — 
(Tellin' it in lingo w'ich you'd hardly understand.) 
" Hauls a lot o' tableware, a bunch o' silky green — 
Dimmit ring a woman likes ter wear upon 'er hand. 
When I lamps it gleamin' 
Thinks I am a-dreamin' — " 
(Peegum Pete's a-winkin' at th' San Diego Shine!) 
" 'Cuz I recognize it — 

Years could not disguise it — 
Hoop I gives ter Katie when I uster call 'er mine ! " 

ii6 



" JOHN YEGG " SPEAKS 

"That wuz twenty years ago," allows th' Bosting Bean; 
(Mister Booze had taken me along th' Primrose 
Way.) 
" She had gone an' married ter a guy I'd never seen — 
(Though she waited years fer me from wot I've heerd 
'em say.) 
But th' dimmit showed me — 
Memory she stowed me — " 
(Peegum Pete's a-winkin' at th' San Diego Shine.) 
" She had not forgotten — 
Say! I'm feelin' rotten 
Lookin' at th' ring I gave ter sort o' brand 'er mine ! " 

" 'Course you took it back agin," sez San Diego Shine ; 

(Bosting Bean's about asleep a-dozin' by th' fire.) 
" Nope," he sez it drowsily, " becuz it onct wuz mine" ; 
(Peegum Pete's a-makin' signs a-meanin' he's a liar.) 

" Spark wuz nice an' nifty — 

Soaks 'er for a fifty — 
Get's a jag that lasts a week an' blows on up th' line! " 

Campfire is a-roarin', 

Bosting Bean's a-snorin' — 
(Peegum Pete's a-winkin' at th' San Diego Shine!) 



117 



THE STORY OF YANEY HOW 

r M J HIS tale they tell when the pipes burn low in the 
-/ hives of the Mongol Men; 

When the guttering light spits at the night and the Sleep 

comes on again; 
This tale they tell when the poppy spell wafts Hence on 

the Wings of Now; 
Then the dreamers speak and their voices squeak with the 

story of Yaney How. 
They tell this tale with a bitter wail as the shaved heads 

bend and bow ; 
" Oh, they killed the luck when they killed The Duck 

and they killed sweet Yaney How!" 

In her little purple trousers and her shirt of fluted green, 

She was the fairest flower that the street had ever seen ; 

Oh, she came from Kia-Cheno which is on the River Ho ; 

And she came the goods and chattels of the lordly 
leader, Fo. 

She came the goods and chattels of the lordly leader, Fo, 

Who is tender of the Joss House and who rules the Mon- 
gol Row; 

And he told the gambling players that the girl would 
change the luck 

As he put her in the Joss House under guard of Manny 
Duck. 

ii8 



THE STORY OF YANEY HOW 

Oh, The Duck was cruel and crafty and he swung a 

ready knife; 
At the bidding of his master he would sacrifice his life ; 
Oh, The Duck was young and handsome, but he loved 

his master Fo, 
And he ruled with knife and pistol all along the Mongol 

Row. 

They told it to the gamblers that the maiden, Yaney How, 
Was a daughter of the Temples, of the Gods to whom 

they bow; 
And they told it to the gamblers that a dollar every day 
Paid to Yaney at the Joss House would make lucky all 

their play. 

From far and near the gamblers came to visit Mongol 
Row, 

To get fair Yaney's blessing (taught her by the lordly 
Fo); 

From far and near the gamblers came and wider grew 
her fame, 

For their luck had grown astounding and they reverenced 
her name. 

Back and forth along the passage, back and forth before 
her door 

Walked her keeper with his pistol thirsting for some hu- 
man's gore; 

119 



THE STORY OF YANEY HOW 

But The Duck was young and handsome and despite his 

visage grim 
He couldn't help but notice that the maiden smiled at 

him. 

Oh, Yaney How was good to look on and she turned her 

jailor stern 
From his duty to his master; where the punk sticks ever 

burn, 
Where the Joss is gazing crossly, underneath his awful 

eye 
Sprang a story of a loving that could never, never, die. 

Sprang a story of a loving; sprang a plan of Manny 
Duck, 

How to steal the maiden, Yaney, and to take the gam- 
bler's luck; 

With a rope he formed a ladder, from the window they 
would go — 

But they planned without a reckoning of the lordly 
leader, Fo. 

From the window went the lovers, she in Manny Duck's 

embrace ; 
And he paid the rope out slowly as they swung out into 

space ; 
Inch by inch they downward traveled and their hearts 

beat high with hope — 
Then Fo leaned from a window — with a knife he cut 

the rope! 

1 20 



THE STORY OF YANEY HOW 

They tell this tale when the pipes burn low in the hives 

of the Mongol Men; 
How it's ten flights down from the roof to the ground 

and it's ten to the roof again; 
Oh, it's ten flights down from the roof to the ground, and 

the shaved heads bend and bow — 
For the lordly Fo with a single blow stopped The Duck 

— and Yaney How! 
They tell this tale with a bitter wail as the shaved heads 

bend and bow: 
" Oh, they killed the luck when they killed The Duck 

and they killed sweet Yaney How!" 



121 



THE TEARLESS EYES 

BALLAD OF A BEACH COMBER 

T SING o' love undyin' ; the kind there ain't no buyin' ; 
-■- O' wimmin waitin' lonely, but no tears is in their 

eyes; 
The deep of them reflectin' the love they are expectin' — 
An' Faith a-shinin' strongly as the blue o' seas and 

skies. 

They looks at you with their tearless eyes 

An' their Faith shows strong an' true; 
An' they says *' I'll wait, yes, early, late — 

I'll wait," they says, " for you." 
For you have taken them to wife 

By their heathen customs, too — 
An' they says " I'll wait, yes, early, late — 

I'll wait," they says, " for you." 

I s'pose the roads through the southern seas 

Are lined by a waitin' throng; 
(Oh, the tearless eyes invite the lies 

When you hear that homeward song.) 
When the sails are filled with the 'Frisco wind 

An' the boat swings nose to sea — 
It's " wait for Jack 'cause I'll come back — 

You wait," you says, '' for me." 
122 



THE TEARLESS EYES 

When your heart is sick o' the teemin' shores 

An' the gabblin' tongues you hear; 
When the houses stink, oh, it's then you think 

O' Her you once held dear. 
No particular Her, o' course, but Her 

O' the tearless eyes you knew — 
An' you hear the call o' the waterfall 

For she's waitin' there for you. 

Oh, gimme Her o' the tearless eyes 

An' Her brown-stained, shinin' hide; 
An' Her faith that's sure and Her heart that's pure 

As the froth on the slidin' tide. 
Oh, gimme Her with Her silent tongue 

When the boat slips through the blue — 
Who says " I'll wait, yes, early, late — 

"I'll wait," she says, " for you." 

I sing o' love undyin' ; o' wimmin never sighin' ; 

(The tearless eyes o' womankind a-starin' through the 
dark.) 
I sing o' peas an' roses; o' seas an' flattened noses — 

I twang me lyre to sing about the ever-burnin' spark! 



123 



BALLAD OF THE BRAKETEAMS 

'VT'OU have told yer little stories 
-^ Good an' bad an' new an' hoarles; 

You have mentioned days o' hunger an' o' thirst. 
You have told o' roads you've beaten 
An' o' meals you haven't eaten 

An' you've tried ter figger when you felt th' worst. 
You have given yer opinions 
O' th' law an' all Its minions — 

An' you've spoken free o' skookums that you've seen 
In passin' by. 
But I haven't heard you mention 
So I calls ter yer attention 

Th' joys o' ridin' brakebeams with a cinder In yer eye! 

You have rode upon th' bumpers 
When a brakeman In his jumpers 

Was a-standin' up on top a-heavin' coal. 
You have been a giddy battler 
When you rode upon th' rattler 

An' you've fought th' shack's assault with heart an' 
soul. 
Oh, you've had yer clothes on fire 
Deckin' It, or yer a liar — 

124 



BALLAD OF THE BRAKETEAMS 

An' you've felt th' curse o' thirstiness a-crossin' deserts 
dry. 
You have hoofed it many miles 
Bein' floated at yer trials — 

But have you rode a brakebeam with a cinder in yer 
eye? 

You have rode in loads o' wheat, 
Loads o' coal an' mebbe beat 

Th' pilot an' th' tender as yer gittin' long th' road. 
You have 'scaped a-many wreck 
By an eyelash I expec' — 

An' you had ter jump expressers when th' shacky said 
"Unload!" 
I have heard yer joyous boast 
O' yer trips from coast ter coast — 

An' I doesn't doubt a minute that you all are mighty fly. 
But I haven't heard you mention 
So I calls ter yer attention 

Th' joys o' ridin' brakebeams with a cinder in yer eye ! 



125 



SONG O' THE LOST TRAINS 

DO you know what a freight train says to a guy 
When he's ditched an' it goes rumblin' by? 
Rumblin' along it sings a song, an' this is the song it 
sings so high: 

*' Ha-a-a-am-gazzam-gazzam-ha-a-am-gazzam! " 

Do you know what it means to a hobo gent 
When he's t'run from a rattler; broken an' bent? 
He lies there hurt in the dust an' dirt, while the train 
sings back from the way It's went : 

" Ha-a-a-am-gazzam-gazzam-ha-a-am-gazzam ! " 

Do you know how a " shack " can speak ; how gruff 
He talks when he says you're far enough ; 
An' hands you a punch where you put your lunch, while 
you're tryin' to t'row a weak-kneed bluff — 

" Ha-a-a-am-gazzam-gazzam-ha-a-am-gazzam! " 

Do you know what It is to suffer from cold, 
From thirst an' hunger an' then be rolled 
Offen a deck on the back o' your neck, while the song 
comes back where the miles enfold — 

" Ha-a-a-am-gazzam-gazzam-ha-a-am-gazzam ! " 
126 



SONG O' THE LAST TRAIN 

Do you know, when a freight train hits a switch 
With a roar an' a slam, an' a snaky twitch 
The hymn so grim it sings to him as he lays watchin' it 
from the ditch? 

*' Ha-a-a-am-gazzam-gazzam-ha-a-am-gazzam! " 

That's what a freight train says to a guy 
When he's ditched, with a boot from a brakeman spry; 
Cussin' his luck he lays there stuck 'till another train 
comes a-rumblin' by: 

" Ha-a-a-am-gazzam-gazzam-ha-a-am-gazzam! " 



127 



YEE-SANG-HIP 

A TALE OF THE PANAMA 

^^ /^HING ching Chinaman stole my wood, 
^^ Ching ching Chinaman aint no good! '* 

Yee-Sang-Hip, th' dirty ole rip, 

Skin drored tight on his monkey head, 

Opium stained to th' finger tip, 

Looked like a mummy a thousand year dead; 

Shy o' teeth an' short an eye, 

Skin th' color o' a punkin pie; 

Minded best to th' crack o' a whip — 

Yee-Sang-Hip, th' dirty ole rip! 

We picked him up at Colon when th' corps was short o' 

help, 
An' many a time we cussed him for a lazy, worthless 

whelp ; 
He couldn't do no liftin' an' he couldn't even cook, 
An' mostly he was smokin' dope in some sequestered 

nook! 

Hoppy-eyed an' full o' yen shee till his skin was like 
to crack, 

128 



YEE-SANG-HIP 

He stumbled on behind th' camp — we couldn't drive 

him back; 
He wuz cussed in seven lingoes an' he often felt th' boot, 
But he only grinned an' grinned again an' didn't care a 

hoot. 

We had elbow^ed through to Bisqua an' th' fever grabbed 

us there, 
An' it took away th' fellers 'fore they'd time to breathe a 

prayer ; 
An' th' coolies in their terror one by one give us th' slip, 
Till th' only one who staid with us was one-eyed 

Yee-Sang-Hip. 

Fever stink in all th' quarters, not a man could raise a 

hand ; 
Death a-peekin' round th' corners in a God-forsaken land ; 
Not a man could even amble an' no help in twenty 

miles — 
When up bobs ornery Yee-Sang-Hip with bland an' dopy 

smiles. 

Fever touch him? Well, not so that you could notice it. 
An' strong men layin' 'round so sick that they could 

hardly spit; 
Yee-Sang-Hip, th' pie-faced Chino wot along to then had 

shirked, 
Sudden rose to th' occasion an' jest hopped right in an' 

worked. 

129 



YEE-SANG-HIP 

" Fixee you," was all he said, an' by day an' night he 
toiled, 

A-workin' with us fellers while th' hellish fever boiled ; 

An' th' same Yee we'd been cussin' fer a worthless China- 
man 

Had a touch upon yer forehead just as soft as woman's 
han'. 

Twenty men a-layin' helpless an' he tireless lookout kept, 
An' all believe this very day that Yee-Sang never slept. 
Many funny draughts he brewed us; funny things he 

brought to eat; 
An' one by one he worked us till he had us on our feet. 

Now it would be a pretty tale to say Yee took down sick 
As soon as all th' men wuz up, an' say he cashed in quick ; 
An' mention with some pathos how we watched him when 

he died, 
An' strong men stood around his couch; an' detail tears 

they cried. 

But I am bound to state that Yee most firm declined to 
die, 

An' though we wondered at his work we found th' rea- 
son why; 

He grinned at all our feverish thanks an' little had to say. 

But " touched " each feller for a ten when next we got 
our pay. 

130 



YEE-SANG-HIP 

An' I regret to say that Yee still stumbles at our back, 
Hoppy-eyed an' full o' yen shee till his skin is like to 

crack ; 
As a horny-handed worker there couldn't be no worse, 
So we cusses him as usual an' we keeps him fer a nurse. 



131 



SONG OF THE STEAM SHOVEL 

^^/^HUFF! Chuff! Chuff!" An' a mountain bluff 

^^ Is moved by the shovel's song; 
'' Chuff! Chuff! Chuff! " Oh, the grade is rough 
A-liftin' the landscape along! 

We are ants upon a mountain, but we're leavin' of our 

dent, 
An' our teeth-marks bitin' scenery; they will show the 

way we went; 
We're a-liftin' half creation an' we're changin' it around 
Just to suit our playful purpose when we're diggin' in 

the ground. 

" Chuff! Chuff! Chuff! " Oh, the grade is rough, 

An' the way to the sea is long; 
" Chuff! Chuff! Chuff! " An' the engines puff 

In tune to the shovel's song. 

We're a-shiftin' miles like inches, an' we grab a forest 

here 
Just to switch it over yonder so's to leave^ an angle clear ; 
We're a-pushin' leagues o' swamps aside so's we can 

hurry by — 
An' if we had to do it we would probably switch the sky! 

132 



SONG OF THE STEAM SHOVEL 

''Chuff! Chuff! Chuff!" An' It grabs the scruff 

O' a hill an' boosts it along; 
" Chuff! Chuff! Chuff! " Oh, the grade is rough 

But it gives to the shovel's song. 

You hears it in the mornin' an' you hears it late at 

night — 
It's our battery keepin' action w^ith support o' dynamite; 
Oh, you gets it for your dinner, an' the scenery skips 

along — 
In a movin' panorama to the chargin' shovel's song! 

"Chuff! Chuff! Chuff!" Oh, it's hard enough 
When you're changin' a job gone wrong; 

" Chuff! Chuff! Chuff! " An' there's no rebuff 
To the shovel a-singin' its song! 

This is a fight that's fightin' an' the battle's to the death; 
There ain't no stoppin' here to rest or even catch your 

breath ; 
You ain't no noble hero an' you leave no gallant name — 
You're a-fightin' Nature's army an' it ain't no easy game! 

" Chuff! Chuff! Chuff! " Oh, the grade is rough, 

An' the way to the end is long; 
"Chuff! Chuff! Chuff!" An' the engines puff 

As we lift the landscape along! 



133 



THE FALL OF A GOD 

BALLAD OF A BEACH COMBER 

BUNGALOO-BIIlydad-Comesy-Boo, 
King o' th' Island o' Bally-Santoo ; 
'E 'as a string o' some forty-two wives; 
Stores 'em away in some forty-two hives; 
Bungaloo-Billydad-Comesy-Boo, 
'E 'as 'is troubles betwixt me 'n you. 

Boss o' th' God House comes to 'im one day; 
Sez Mister God is a-pinin' away; 
Wants for to 'ave a companion in life — 
'E's been demandin' a charmin' young wife; 
Un 'at kin cook, an' un 'at kin sing; 
'E wants th' pick o' th' Bungaloo string. 

Bungaloo-Billydad-Comesy-Boo, 
" Wot in th' dickens," sez 'e, " kin I do? 
I loves 'em all, an' they're all lovin' me; 
How I'm to pick 'er I really don't see; 
Never did 'ear o' so orful a bore — 
Gotter be done er th' God '11 get sore." 

134 



THE FALL OF A GOD 

Up speaks myself, and I sez, ** It's a cinch — 

I am th' lad wot is great in a pinch; 

Line up yer wives an' I picks un right out — 

Never no trouble an' never no doubt." 

Bungaloo-Billydad-Comesy-Boo, 

Grabs at th' notion an' puts er' right through. 

Forty-tw^o wives out in one single row 
Make quite a string, as I'll have you to know; 
Fussin' an' crowdin' an' kickin' up dust, 
Hard to determine just which un's th' wust. 
Long uns an' short uns an' fat uns an' thins — 
Lines 'em up even an' then I begins: 

*' ' Onery, owery, ickory, Ann — 

Phillison, FoUison, Nicholas, John ! ' — 

You with th' smile an' the feathery fan 

Kindly to foller th' God Tender on; 

Ain't much on looks, but I guess 'at you'll do — 

Easiest job 'at I ever put through." 

Bungaloo-Billydad-Comesy-Boo, 
"Whoa!" 'e sez fiercely, "now 'at un won't do; 
Couldn't to think about givin' 'at wife — 
She is Chelooloo, th' joy o' my life; 
Try 'em agin, for there's un 'at th' right 
Who bothers me some when I stay out at night." 

135 



THE FALL OF A GOD 

" ' Dickery, stickery, kickery, dock, 
All o' yer winter clothes gone into hock * — 
You with th' face like a summer squash pie 
Step from th' line an' let 'em pass by." 
"Whoa!" sez th' King, lookin' flustered an' hot, 
'* She is th' only real cook 'at I've got! " 

" 'Hubbadoo, rubadoo, clubadoo, blub — 
Wiggery, waggery, wuggery, wub ' — 
You on th' end with th' mouth like a door, 
Out from th' line — but th' King gives a roar: 
" She is th' newest, just got 'er to-day. 
Couldn't to think about givin' away." 

Took 'em in order right down through th' list, 
Shouldn't 'ave thought 'at a un 'ud be missed. 
Every un called, but th' King 'ad a kick — 
Thought o' some virtue an' thought it up quick; 
An' when th' list it was finally done — 
Bungaloo sez, " I won't give 'im a un ! " 

Bungaloo-Billydad-Comesy-Boo, 
Grabs up 'is war club an' six pistol, too; 
Hits for th' Temple with blood in 'is eye, 
Catches th' Tender a crack goin' by; 
Up to th' God an' 'e wallops it 'ard — 
Scatters th' pieces all over th' yard. 

136 



THE FALL OF A GOD 

Bungaloo-Billydad-Comesy-Boo, 
King o' th' Island o' Bally-Santoo ; 
'E 'as a string o' some forty-two wives; 
Stores 'em away in some forty-two hives; 
'E cooes around like a fat turtle dove, 
Won't 'ave no God in 'is kingdom but Love ! 



137 



THE LAST OF THE HACKDRIVERS 

A STORY OF THE CITY 

'V7' OU all recall '' Seattle," and his team of balky grays 
-■• Who stood at Kelcey's corner for a score of years 
or more; 
His hack a welcome haven in your salad, ballad days 
When you steered, a trifle tempest tossed, against his 
friendly shore. 
You must recall " Seattle," and the creak and squeak and 
rattle 
Of his deep sea-going carriage as it churned along the 
street ; 
In rain or shine he waited for the patrons he had slated — 
And now, they say, " Seattle's " dead ; time surely 
passes fleet! 

You must recall " Seattle," and his horses, Tom and Joe; 
His beaming, liquored countenance, and somewhat 
husky bass — 
For twenty years of night he stood and watched us come 
and go 
And lent a helping hand to us with all his courtly 
grace. 
He drove you to your courting, to your wedding and 
disporting, 

138 



THE LAST OF THE HACKDRIVERS 

He stood, a beacon of relief, from nightfall until dawn. 
When anyone was buried, in his good old hack he ferried 
The mourners to the graveyard where he himself has 
gone. 

Aye, we all recall " Seattle," and his team of sulky grays, 

A taxicab is at his stand, and he has passed along. 
But we seem to hear — an echo of the ballad, salad days — 
His husky voice uplifted in an oldtime dance hall song. 
So we'll weep for old " Seattle," and we'll miss the creak 
and rattle 
Of the iron-heeled wheels that sang to us in creeping 
down the road; 
And in that place hereafter, we will greet that kindly 
grafter 
With a pleasant, " How, Seattle," and a " Have you 
got a load? " 



139 



THE OUTBREAK 

OH-H-H! Hark! 
^ Down on your knees and pray! 

Ten bad men from Cell House Four 
Have killed a guard and sprung a door 
And they* re trying to get away — 
Down! Get down, and pray! 

A roar rips wide the peaceful night — 

Spikes of flame barb the upper walls 
Where the rifles answer the dynamite 

And the guards fire wild where the gray rats crawl. 

The whistles scream ; the bells give tongue ; 

The searchlight splits the sullen dark — 
A fierce alarm through town is flung, 

And now we hear the bloodhounds bark. 

A rattle and crash on every tier — 

The guards pour in with riot gun; 
Wild-eyed we listen and pray to hear 

Some word, some hope, the ten have won. 

They blew a gate ; they got through — all — 
We sense that much who knew the plan ; 

They scattered out beyond the wall, 

Each for himself — God help each man ! 
140 



THE OUTBREAK 

Listen! The pop of guns grows faint; 

And now they seem to die away — 
The night has passed but left a taint 

Of blood upon the morning gray. 

Sh-h-h! Hark! 
Down on your knees and pray! 
What was that the turnkey saidf 
All of them caught — eight of them dead 
Not one managed to get awayf 
Down! Get down and pray! 



141 



DIAMOND DITTIES 



A MINOR LEAGUE MELODY 

I'M stallin' me way through the Caviar League on a 
flash o' me ole time speed; 
I'm hittin' three twenty for Banbury Bend an' keepin' 

it out in the lead — 
I usta hit better for Hanlon, perhaps, in the time o' the 

Baltimore team, 
But I've gone quite a ways since the halcyon days o' 

me youth an' me major league dream! 
Oh, I'm ole an' me legs are as wooden as pegs an' they 

tell me me tootsies don't track — 
Xhey's a stitch in me side when I run or I slide — an' 

I reckon I'll never go back! 

I've been through the Bushes from 'Frisco to Maine, an' 

a lot o' the map in between. 
An' the stuff that I've seen in them Fire Cracker Leagues 

was stuff that no gent should have seen. 
I've played in the north, east an' w^est an' the South, an' 

they're onto me every ole place — 
They set up a yell : '' W'y here's Noah — well, well ! " 

— then I bat 'em close up in the race. 
Oh, I'm ole an' me eyes are all gone, but I'm wise an' 

me noodle makes up for me lack 
O' me whip an' the pep o' me major league rep., but it's 

likely I'll never go back. 
145 



A MINOR LEAGUE MELODY 

Me stomach ain't strong for these wolf wild kids wit' 

their awful control an' their smoke — 
If ever they bean me wit' one o' them slants I'm as dead 

as a mack'rel in soak. 
An' when they come slidin' feet first to me sack I has to 

give way an' I feel 
That I've gone quite a ways since the halcyon days when 

I stood to the slides an' the steel. 
Still, they's many a star in a Big League car that went on 

me tip to ole Mac — 
I've sent up some kids since they give me the skids — 

but pussonly I'll never go back! 



146 



THE FREE HITTER 



Vy HO, me? 



Listen ! 
I've elbowed me way from Nowhere to a seat wit' a 

champion team, 
By puttin' some dents in the center field fence along o' 

me turrible steam. 
I've heard 'em debatin' me system, an' I've heard 'em 
discussin' me style — 
Listen ! 
Me secret is punchin' the ball on the snout an' makin' it 
ramble a mile! 

That's me! 

I always hit it a mile! 
It's a trick that I learned in the Timber, for the boss he 

would say wit' a smile : 
" Step up there, you rummy, an' wop it, an' be sure that 
you wop it a mile ! " 

The fadeaways fade to a fancy, an' the spitters go splat- 

terin' out. 
An' all o' their smoke is a Bush-league joke if you clout 

it a toe-swnang clout; 
An' they's never no zones o' safety an' they's never no sys- 
tem or style — 

Get me! 

147 



THE FREE HITTER 

That'll blockade the track o' a fence bound smack if you 
tune It to sing for a mile! 
That's me! 

I always make it a mile! 
They teach It back there in the Jungles, where they's 

never no system or style: 
" Step up there, you low brow, an' lum it — an' be sure 
that you lam it a mile! " 

Yessir! I horned meself in here from Nowhere, an' I'm 

settin' these batsmen a pace — 
They's never a day that the papers don't say I study the 

pitchers I face — 
That's a scream, for me secret is simple, an' you all 
oughta give It a trial — 
Listen ! 
I step up an' snare me a good one an' then I just spank 
it a mile! 

That's me! 

I only hit it a mile! 

You get It back there in the Cat Tails, where it's runs 

that they want all the while, 
An' they yell: "Get up there an' ding it, an' be sure 

that you ding it a mile! " 



148 



BLACKLISTED 

RAPPED to the way that I stood to the pan? Rap- 
ped to the way that I swung? 
Well, it's me — Kid Massingale, mister — that goes by 

the name o' McClung! 
Playin' the field here for sixty a month wit' a job in a 

store on the side — 
Blacklisted? Sure! An' the National Commish makes 
it foller wherever I hide. 

They let all the good ones they just had to have slip back 

in the organized fold 
When the Northwestern outlaws went onto the rocks, 

but me — an' some more — were too old. 
We jumped in the days when we all had the goods, an* 

we jumped at a time when it hurt — 
An' lookin' it over from where I sit now I'll admit that 

we did do 'em dirt! 

You notice the ole man still hits 'em a bit? I could man- 
age a minor league crowd — 

But you bet all you got that the National Commish'll 
go crazy before it's allowed. 

I might be an umpire, I might be a scout, as it is I ain't 
nothin' at all, 

Because I got chesty an' wanted more dough, an' I hopped 
out o' organized ball! 

149 



HOMEWARD BOUND 

WELL, we're seeding the Jungles with Spring recruits 
as we're leaving the South astern ; 
We're planting a crop of next year's grief when they'll 

come for a second turn. 
But we pound our ears to the carwheel's croon with a 

good, glad tunk in our hearts. 
For we're shed of the kids who threatened our jobs, and 
it's soon that the salary starts. 

We're leaving our aches and pains at the springs where 

we stripped from our Winter ease, 
And we josh the boobs at the kidtown stops with many 

an old-time wheeze; 
We raise our voices and raise our bets with the faith that 

a flush imparts — 
As we sift through the South and the winds o' March 

to the time when the salary starts. 

We're booming along through some bush league dates 

to our places as first page news 
(And a Pullman's a pretty soft berth, my boy, when 

you're sure of your regular's shoes!) 
So we dream to the drone of the drumming wheels with 

a peace in our minds and hearts. 
And we hope that the kid from the Six Gun League 

breaks a leg ere the next year starts! 
150 



A RINGSIDE RHYME 

OHUFFLIN' mah feet in de rawsum, waitin' de soun 

^ o' de gong, 

Seems toe me lak Ah heahs a voice — yo'll say dat mah 

haid is wrong; 
It comes fum de gemmen's co'nah, a whispahin' soft an' 

low — 
An' Ah heahs dat gemmen's right han' speak an' it say 
toe de lef, jess so — 
It saiz: 

"Ka-bam! Ka-bam! Ka-bam!" 
Thass all ! 

Yessuh; Heah is mah ole brown baf robe, noddin' to 

frien's at de ring, 
Figgahin' to bus' de gemmen's crus' as soon as de gong 

go ding; 
Finkin' about mah sixty puh cent — an' den Ah mos' lose 

mah href — 
Fob de right ban' mumble an' muttah an' den it answahs 
de lef — 

An' it saiz: 

"Ka-bam! Ka-bam! Ka-bam!" 

Thass all! 

151 



A RINGSIDE RHYME 

Tyin' mah shoestring ca'less, an' gibin' mah sassiest looks, 
Does yo' say as Ah fought him nuvus — w'y, boss, kin 

a man fight spooks? 
No, sah! Dey's nuffin to DAT — Ah hasn't no yallar 

streak. 
But Ah heahs de lef han' say toe de right, an' de right 
han' up an' speak — 
An' it saiz: 

"Ka-bam! Ka-bam! Ka-bam!" 
Thass all! 



152 



P ABA LIT A SANDOVAL 

OTRANGER, hear the echoes call — 

^ '' Pabalita 

'' Pabalita 

'' Pabalita Sandoval! '' 

Always in the mountain passes, 
In the canons 'long th' river — 

An' where the prairie grasses 

To th' night winds lightly shiver; 

You kin hear it softly sighin' 

Whisperin' a love undyin' — 

For It Is his spirit cryin' 
''Pabalita Sandoval!" 

Listen to th' plazas tale 
O' th' night wind's mournful wail — 
Not th' wind, they say — th' call 
" Pabalita Sandoval! " 

Pabalita Sandoval, purtiest girl on th' Rio Grande, 
Eyes like sparks an' hair a shawl, black as ary nigger's 

hand. 
Lips like roses, rich an' red, pursin' to a kissin' pose — 

153 



PABALITA SANDOVAL 

Lips that teched 'em bled, they said; cactus lay within 

th' rose. 
Hell wuz broodin' in her eyes; passion slumbered in her 

heart — 
Onct aroused it never dies an' it tore her soul apart — 
Soul ? Aye, yes, warped some, an' thin ; somewhat stained 

with bitter gall. 
Love stole out an' hate crept in — Pabalita Sandoval — 

Hear 'em softly, softly call — 

" Pabalita 

'' Pabalita 

" Pabalita Sandoval! '* 



Billy Hall, called Cigarette, an' a outlaw kid wuz Billy 

Hall, 
Comes to Mesa an' he met Pabalita Sandoval. 
Nervy kid wuz Billy Hall, handsome, too, an' tall an' 

slim ; 
Pabalita Sandoval saw him an' she went to him. 
Pabalita went to him as to many more she'd gone — 
Sang them syreen songs to him an' he follered sheeplike 

on. 
Strong men tried to change his pace; talked like dads to 

Billy Hall, 
But he only saw th' face — Pabalita Sandoval. 



154 



PA B J LIT A SANDOVAL 

Now you hear 'em louder call — 

'' Pabalita 

'' Pabalita 

" Pabalita Sandoval! " 

On his head wuz hung a price, thousand plunks alive or 

dead — 
Many tried — but never twice — Billy's mark w^uz long 

an' red! 
So they laughed an' played together through them long 

dry summer days — 
Rode th' range in ary weather, dreamin' in a golden haze. 
An' they planned beyond th' dangers, Bill he wuz to quit 

his life — 
Dodgin' death an' also Rangers — she to be his lovin* 

wife. 
Aye, they planned, she seemed to mean it, seemed to love 

that Billy Hall — 
An' th' end — Ah, could she seen it — Pabalita Sandoval. 

Hear 'em sorrowfully call — 

'' Pabalita 

'' Pabalita 

" Pabalita Sandoval! " 

Bat McMasters, One-eyed Bat, gun man from the Fallin' 

Wall! 
Wicked cuss, but game at that, comes a huntin' Billy 
Hall. 

155 



PABALITA SANDOVAL 

'Fraid to take an even break Bat he knows a better stall, 
An' he plays that shemale snake — Pabalita Sandoval ! 
Pabalita Sandoval ! Bat wuz on th' buy, she sold 
All th' love o' Billy Hall for a dirty mess of gold. 
Sold It as you sell a cow, bartered, traded It, that's all — 
Hear them echoes callin' now? Pabalita Sandoval — 

Spirits weepf You hear that call — 

'' Pabalita 

'' Pabalita 

" Pabalita Sandoval! " 

Down along th' Broken Stick Billy playin' hide an' seek, 
Comes a message she wuz sick, callin' for him — gettin* 

weak. 
Thirty miles through blindln' snow comes a-tearin' Billy 

Hall — 
Prayin' death would take her slow — Pabalita Sandoval ! 
Dangers lay at every jump, Death reached forth an eager 

hand — 
But he made his cayuse hump, atmosphere he fairly fanned. 
So he came in his devotion, so he came, this Billy Hall 
Cryin' in his heart's emotion — ''Pabalita Sandoval!" 

As you hear that moanin call — 

" Pabalita 

" Pabalita 

" Pabalita Sandoval! " 

156 



PABALITA SANDOVAL 

Billy Hall, called Cigarette, an' a outlaw kid wuz Billy 

Hall 
Playin' for his 'special bet, Pabalita Sandoval! 
Pabalita lay abed; One-eyed Bat behind th' door; 
Listenin' for Billy's tread — shotgun loaded to th' bore. 
*' Pabalita! " Billy cries as he bursts into th' room — 
" Pabalita! " an' he spies Bat a-standin' in th' gloom. 
Quick he fired but Bat wuz quicker by a wink than Billy 

Hall — 
This his dyin' life-lamp's flicker — *' Pabalita Sandoval! " 

Like you hear that echo call — 

'' Pabalita 

'' Pabalita 

'' Pabalita Sandoval! " 

Billy shootin' through th' dark, wide o' Bat his bullet 

sped, 
Still it reached a shinin' mark, struck her as she lay abed. 
Struck her where her heart should be, an' they heard 

her shriekin' call 
"Beela! Beela! Come to me — Pabalita Sandoval!" 
So they laid 'em down out yonder w^here the mountain 

flowers grow, 
Where the woolly sheep flocks wander an' the mountain 

breezes blow. 
But his soul, they say, ain't sleepy, an' it rambles — hear 

that call — 
Don't it start th' shivers creepy? — " Pabalita Sandoval! " 

157 



PABALITA SANDOVAL 

Hear the echoes loudly call — 

^' Pabalita 

^' Pabalita 

'' Pabalita Sandoval! " 



Always in the mountain passes, 
In the canons 'long th' river — 

An' where the prairie grasses 

To th' night winds lightly shiver; 

You kin hear it softly sighin' 

Whisperin' a love undyin' — 

For it is his spirit cryin' 
"Pabalita Sandoval!" 

An that is sure the plaza's tale 
O' th' night wind's mournful wail — 
Not th' wind, they say, th' call 
" Pabalita Sandoval! " 



158 



REQUIEM 

OHUFFLE by and gaze on him, as he lays in gracious 

^^ sleep ; 

Rest for him who's gone away, where the best and worst 

shall go. 
Sorrow not ; the eyes are dim ; sweet indeed the sleep of 

him — 
Sorrow not. for Grod is good — let the drums beat very 

low. 



Somewhere out ahead is light ; somewhere in the sea 

there's land ; 
Pass him by in deepest silence; let him sleep. 
Still and cold he seems? Not so; in his heart there is a 

glo^^' ; 
Sorrow not ; for God is gentle — do not weep. 

Sings a lark at golden morn ; sings a song of grace for 

him; 
Sorrow not, his dreams are quiet dreams of love. 
Sorrow not ; he smiles again ; warm his smiling lips again ; 
AVarm his heart — for God is gracious with His love. 



159 



8 1912 




LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

018 378 146 7 ^ 



